Harry Potter: A Soul In Tension
by R334
Summary: The rules have changed and Harry knows it. Choices and decisions are laid before him. His life will never be the same again and he swears that that this time, he will be the one in control. Year 6, with an independent Harry. Read and review, but no flames
1. Chapter 01 prologue: A Lonely Soul

**Harry Potter: A Soul In Tension**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 01 (prologue)**

**v.01: 02/26/2005**

**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Soul In Tension' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

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**Chapter 01: A Lonely Soul Waiting In The Dark**

The weights, above him, shone in the morning sun.

He lifted the object high above his head, as his arms strained against the pull gravity exerted on the metallic mass, glistening in sweat. He had been at it for thirty minutes already, after having done a couple dozen push-ups and sit-ups, his usual wakeup exercises. His body had already changed from the new regime he had imposed on himself - his scrawny figure had become fuller and his skinny limbs now sported taut muscles. His daily calisthenics, however, requested a healthy diet with a lot of nutrients - a problem that took its toll on him knowing in which environment he lived. He didn't have the needed food for that and during the first weeks of his workout sessions, he had burned what little energy and fat he had left in his body, before friends of his, upon his very request, had sent him ballots full of food and drinks.

And ever since he began to eat properly, he could see what a proper alimentation could do to him. Ever since his childhood he had been deprived of good food, as his guardians hated to give him anything that would make him happy. He was the unwelcome one in his own home - the additional mouth to reluctantly feed. And he knew it. On top of that, he was often assigned a lengthy list of chores and other tasks to get done as soon as possible. The result of which was a great amount of time spent in gardening, cleaning and so on...more exercises for him to do.

In a certain way, he was glad for that, as it gave him other opportunities to work out and tune his own body. He knew that he would need that strength later in his life if he ever planned on living to a ripe, old age and have grandkids one day. It was a task of utmost priority. For he was one in constant danger. Evil lurked around him, hiding shadows and forever conspiring to take him away from the world of the living. He had many times seen Death approach him and extend its claws towards his small, diminutive frame, only to retreat in haste and wait for another opportunity to come. And each time he missed being killed, the barrier between death and life became increasingly blurry. He knew that if he didn't take steps to prevent himself from meeting his fate at the hands of his enemies, he would dearly regret it.

And so he prepared himself. Each morning, he woke up at five o'clock and began his training exercises, before doing a two-mile run in the vicinity, returning just in time to prepare breakfast for his relatives and retreat back to his room to continue his workouts. That particular moment of the day was soon followed by stretching exercises, meditation and some studying, all of which were punctuated by angry calls made by his guardians to either mow the front lawn, wash the dishes or clean the kitchen's floor. And many would wonder as to how that formerly frail boy would bear that amount of activity without suffering a nervous breakdown or a downright exhaustion collapse.

But Harry Potter was not known for being a normal individual. His lightning-shaped scar, on his head, was a testimony of that. Death had followed him ever since he was born, taking his parents away from him, resulting in his so-called 'adoption' by his aunt and uncle, both of which loathed their nephew and didn't hesitate to make their opinion known to everyone but the immediate world around them. They abhorred people they judged as 'unnatural' or 'queer'. They prized normalcy like nothing else, deeming themselves to be higher than the other families that lived in the respectable district known as Little Whinging. Men who wore either long hair or an earring were either dubbed as 'mutts' or 'punks', 'good-for-nothing brats' that didn't deserve living or even being accepted by society. They constantly spied on their neighbors, trying to find their every flaws only to gossip about it with their slander-wielding friends and criticize everything - telling, in the meantime that _that _type of absurdity would never occur with _them_, the all-perfect Dursleys.

Pushing the black weights overhead, Harry Potter panted, feeling the fatigue seeping its way through his whole being. He knew that he wouldn't last any longer. His exercises were done for today. Carefully, he set back down the rusty mass of metal, which previously belonged to his cousin Dudley, for his boxing training. Dudley Dursley was the epitome of stupidity and overweight. Fat, dim-witted and 'gifted' with an egotistical mind, he didn't miss one opportunity to annoy his cousin, Harry Potter, loving to remind his relative above his orphan state and his lack of friends. That type of harassment took its roots deep in their childhood, when Dudley received everything he wanted and Harry barely nothing. The Dursley positively hated him for even breathing or just existing. He was the bane of their life. He didn't deserve their so-called benevolence as they should have kicked him out as soon as possible, if it weren't for the law prohibiting such a horrid act. Beatings, bullying, deprivations and other punishments had become part of Harry Potter's life. A common occurrence which he had learnt to live with and even use it for his own purposes. Dudley has not enough do a single first level crosswords. Harry wasn't even sure that his spelling notions were enough for him to reasonably do such a test of wits.

Setting down the weights on the floor beside him, he got up with a grunt, before heading towards his own bed, pulling a clean tee-shirt off the messed-up sheets and putting it on. He then made his bed, cleared the floor and started putting back his books in neat, ordered stacks. His aunt Petunia sometimes threw a look in his room when he wasn't there, to see if no suspicious or dangerous object was lying around. Her fear of the wizarding kind, however, prevented her from directly confronting Harry and demanding him to put it away in a safe location. Harry passed a tired hand through his wild, raven hair, trying to tidy himself up a bit, to look at least a little presentable. He didn't want to hear his relatives ranting endlessly about scruffy, worthless individuals that were the bane of society. Aunt Petunia's gossip sessions with her neighborhood friends were enough to provide him with prejudices about so-called 'bad, scandalous habits that deserve either a fine or imprisonment'. His green eyes darted left and right, searching for any item that was not at its place. With a mental smirk, he reflected on how Hermione-ish he was becoming. Discipline was a science he endeavored to plant inside his mind, as he thought that it would ease his future tasks.

"Boy! Get down here at this instant!" came a gruff, loud voice from downstairs. Silently cursing his bad luck, Harry Potter went out of his room, making sure that he had his wand in his trousers' pocket, and went down the staircase, to find himself looking straight at his bull-like uncle, Vernon Dursley. He noticed that his large, round and mustachioed face was more purpled than usual, as each time the biased Grunnings employee addressed Harry he always bore a red complexion in the face. _Might be Mad-Eye's warning_, Harry thought, recalling the little interview the old, retired Auror had with his relatives. Small talk was an understatement. Blatant threat was closer to the truth. "There you are! Took you long enough!" Vernon all but shouted. "I want you to wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen floor!" he gestured towards the said room, pointing a beefy, shaking finger towards that direction. Harry nodded without uttering an answer, his new response towards his makeshift family since the end of fifth year. As he entered the kitchen, he could hear his uncle bellowing one last sentence, "and NO funny business or you're in for it, boy!" They were still afraid of saying the word 'magic' or 'wizard' in their own household, fearing that their neighbors might hear it and spread rumors around.

Sighing, he took a mop and a sponge, and began his lengthy task. Not once he complained. He had had years of experience with the Dursleys to know that the word 'complaint' was unwelcome at four, Privet Drive. It didn't hold any meaning in here, but symbolized one road towards long, painful and exhausting punishments. Taking one plate in his hand and dipping it in hot water, he thought about the future and the past. Ever since the beginning of fifth year, everything had changed. For the worst. Not only did Lord Voldemort come back to life and power, but the entire wizarding world had shunned him out, for the only reason that he, Harry, had witnessed the event and wanted to warn his contemporaries about the new danger. As a logical, psychological reaction from people traumatized by old and now-buried tragedies, people had refused believing him, choosing instead to belittle him and repay him with slander. The hero of one time had become the target of mockeries and ridicule. Not that he minded, except for the fact that mass media propaganda also touched those around him. He was lucky that he had faithful friends around him, otherwise...he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to become a new James Potter, betrayed by a new Peter Pettigrew. That would the death of him. Rinsing the plate, he moved on through the silverware, dropping forks, spoons, knifes and other cutlery items in a little, separate box. Draining the washbasin, he took the mop and a broom and started cleaning the floor, which was covered in dark stains, mostly dirty footmarks from Dudley's trainers.

He had to become stronger.

Otherwise he wouldn't survive.

Darwin stated that in an ecosystem, only the fittest and the strongest survived. Eat or be eaten. Beat or be beaten. So was the law of the wildlife and his world was no exception to it. Finishing his task, he set the broom in a little closet near the hall and got back upstairs, not wanting to spend another minute with his aunt and uncle and suffer their insupportable antics. Shutting the door behind him, he flopped on his bed, allowing himself to pensively gaze at the ceiling for a moment before stretching to his right and reaching for a leather-bound book. _Get Downright Nasty: How To Deal With Duels Getting Out Of Hand_ by Theodorus Thimble. Each day, he spent four hours reading, rereading and cross-checking, indulging himself in taking some notes and writing all of his newly-gained knowledge in a classified account. That way he should be able to discern what was of greater importance and what wasn't. As he wasn't of age yet he couldn't perform magic without alerting the Ministry and getting, in the end, his wand snapped in two for misuse of underage magic. His freedom was already taken away from him. He wouldn't lose anything else. Not his ability to defend himself.

_The Exitium Curse is one of the most powerful spells ever created by Aelfric the Ancient, a war mage that took part in the eighth Goblin rebellion in the eleventh century. It is said that Aelfric created the curse to disrupt enemy lines as they charged towards his allies' lines, and foil their deadly onslaught. Goblins had the reputation of charging head-on, spear held high and ready to be thrown, towards their enemies and battles waged against those deadly foes were greatly feared by Middle Ages wizards, as most of their spells were ineffective against that species. Most curses, hexes or jinxes would either bounce off Goblin protection shields or have very few to nonexistent effects, thus the need of new techniques to counterattack that threat. Aelfric Dinobas (1021-1133), a war mage from Southern France, took upon his shoulders the task of creating new types of magic. He retreating inside his own tower near Toulouse and spent two years experimenting new fields of witchcraft and wizardry, during which sixty-eight accidents occurred and nine servants of Aelfric perished in accidental explosions, byproducts and aftereffects of Aelfric's attempts to create new spells. Finally, in the fall of 1066, as the eighth Goblin rebellion war reached its apex, Aelfric finally forsook his dungeons and came forth towards battle, with many friends of his that he had initiated to the Arts of War._

_In the battle of Bordeaux (1066 AD), Aelfric, with his kinsmen, used for the first time the Exitium Curse, effectively spreading chaos in the enemy lines and forcing his enemy, Galdaragh the Grisly to retreat towards the sea, where he was finally cornered by Aelfric's companions, coming from the sea and the south. That fateful day ended with the utter destruction of six Goblin armies and a decisive victory for the Warlock Gild-led wizard troops. Aelfric was later named high commander of the Warlock Gild as an acknowledgement and reward for his tremendous work during those two long years. In the end, the defeat of Bordeaux, made possible by the appearance and massive use of Exitium Curses, turned the tide against the Goblin nation, forcing them to admit defeat and relinquish their dominion to the kingdom of men._

_The incantation for the Exitium Curse is 'exitio' (pronounced 'ecs-xee-tee-yo' with a deep emphasis on the 'xee') and is used to cast a destructive blast onto your opponent. It is, however, more effective on large formations or groups, as it wipes away all sense of coordination off those targeted as well as causing massive damage to them. Considered as a highly dangerous curse, the Exitium Curse was nearly proclaimed as illegal by the two hundred eighty-third gathering of the Wizengamot Confederation in 1638, after two greedy wizards attempted to murder their rich cousins and their respective heirs by using the Exitium Curse but fortunately failed in performing the spell. A high amount of damage, however, was to be deplored in the surroundings - an aftereffect of the botched castings._

_The aforementioned case shows us that a high degree of caution must be used when considering casting this special spell. It is reported that some dark feelings like hate and anger or even righteous ire increases the power output of the curse, even though nobody has yet dared to use the Exitium Curse ever since the 1640s, as governments came to look upon that spell with a watchful eye and a repressive mind. There are three variants of the Exitium spell, two of which are now forgotten (namely the Chaos Exitium and the Havoc Exitium, both famous for their tendency to backfire on the caster when incorrectly cast). The last known one is the Exitium Supremum, which only dark wizards are known to use as it requires a great amount of dark arts' experience for the caster in order to use the spell with success. The Exitium Supremum's incantation, however, is 'Exitio Hostem' (pronounced 'ecs-xee-tee-yo, haw-s-them')._

Taking a sheet of paper from his nightstand, he jotted down a few notes about the Exitium Curse, underlining it with a red marker and adding a few observations about its advantages in battle. He also thought about the DA, his little Defense Against the Dark Arts group, formed under the very nose of last year's Hogwarts High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge. As the frog-like ministry employee refused to impart her students with knowledge about how to repel Death Eaters, students took upon themselves the secret and difficult task of teaching themselves defense curses, hexes and jinxes so that they wouldn't fall behind the normal school curriculum. They knew that the Ministry was trying to asphyxiate them and they refused to submit. Not in such dire moments. Voldemort was lurking around and they needed to be prepared. A good offense is the best defense, many said. And they took the lesson to heart. _Maybe I should teach them that_, thought Harry, thinking about eventual lessons with his classmates and fellow DA members. _But again, it's a highly dangerous curse, easy to misuse. Maybe it's not such a good idea, but again, what should I teach time these days?_ His musings were cut short by a quiet hoot from his pet owl, Hedwig, who was looking at him with curious, amber eyes. Harry turned towards the white-feathered bird and smiled. _She must be asking herself why I'm so concentrated on a sheet of paper_, he laughed inwardly. Such a behavior was so unlike him. Studiousness was expected from Hermione, but not him.

Harry got up from his bed and went towards Hedwig's cage, opening its door and inserting his hand inside to stroke his friend's back. The white, tawny owl hooted with pleasure, relishing her master's attention. "Alright, there, girl?" he asked.

'Hoot.'

"I see" he laughed. "I'll let fly off tonight, girl, don't worry," he added, soothing his companion. The Dursleys had forbidden him from letting her fly during daytime so that she wouldn't alarm the neighbors or attract unwanted attention. How sensible. "I don't feel like sending message these days, and I'm sorry for it." He sat back on his bed with an apologetic smile, knowing that he was depriving his owl from what she was meant to do. "But that doesn't mean you cannot wander on and off whenever or wherever you want, you know that?" he asked. Hedwig blinked in response, hooting softly in agreement. "Good, then. Just don't get hurt, I don't know what I'd do alone in here" he said, with a sad, wry smile.

'Hoot.'

Harry sighed, a strange sight for those who might have observed him during the last few weeks. He had schooled himself into wearing a blank face, hiding his true expression beneath a cold mask. He didn't want to let the pain show and take him away. Such weaknesses would be the cause of his death. He had to move on, to rein in the hurt that threatened to break him. Tame it and use it for his own purposes. His destiny commanded it. For at the end of fifth year, the rules had changed.

Until then, he had seen himself as just a simple student but with a stunning past. One that longed much for normalcy but failed miserably in getting a hold of it. He had discovered that it was only a vain hope. He would never have the happiness he strained to grasp. For his path in life had already been written years ago. He was the chosen one. The one who had been given the grisly task of definitively bringing down the Dark Lord, Voldemort, the evil wizard who had given him his lightning bolt-shaped scar. He had arisen anew and had to be defeated for ever, one last time. For a better world and a chance to peace.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, Born as the seventh month dies…And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal..._that prophecy had haunted his nights for two whole months, depriving him from much-needed sleep and torturing him endlessly, a torment of the worst type. On top of that, he kept having visions. Pictures of people clad in black being put under the Pain Curse and the sound of a grim laugh echoing away. Nightmares on a daily basis.

He had had to tutor himself in Occlumency, as he refused to have Snape, as a private professor for his holidays. His mind-shielding sessions during Fifth Year were a complete disaster, from its beginning to its end and it had resulted in the death of Harry's godfather.

_Sirius..._

A pang of pain tore through Harry's heart, deeply stabbing his soul although the teenager's face showed nothing. He couldn't let the pain take him over, he reminded himself. _Breathe deeply, let the air fill your lungs and your muscles relax. The world around you exists no more. Your room is your universe. And you are in control. Exhale. Relax. Inhale. And again._ He retreated towards the deepest recesses of his mind, just like he did in Occlumency, feeling the cold numbness of meditation soothe his spirit. He needed those exercises like a stranded man wandering in the desert lusting for a bottle of water. It had become like a drug; it was now a means to fulfill his goals. A trampoline of sorts towards higher levels. Discipline and order were the two things he reaped from those mind-training sessions.

Shaking his head to chase the remaining depressive thoughts out of his mind, he leant back against the pane of glass behind him, trying to think about something else. _Quidditch? Like it's going to help me, hah! I already hear Jordan commentating a match between me and Moldy-warts... 'Voldemort has the quaffle, dribbles Potter, Crucio'es him...Potter plummets down to the ground...ouch! That had to hurt! Meanwhile...err...Voldemort keeps on speeding towards the hoops...and yes! He throws it right through the goal! Ten-zero for the Dark Lord. It's still zilch for the Light side, though...come on, Potter, look for the snitch! That will kill him outright! Yeah, you heard me so now, stop whimpering and get back on your Firebolt! Now, if you could...ah, okay...Voldemort sends a new Cruciatus spell towards Potter and the referee, Lucius Malfoy, has still not given the penalty shot for Potter! Really, what a shame! And stop whimpering, Potter!'"_ Chuckling inwardly, he took a look back at his book, a gift from Hermione for his fourteenth birthday. _Hermione._ The thought of his bushy-haired friend pulled him into a deep reflection about the meaning of friendship and as to how far would his friend follow him in his quest for freedom. She had been hurt more than once just because she had been Harry's friend yet she still kept tagging along with him, not hesitating to follow him in his most dangerous adventures. Last year, in the Department of Mysteries, she had nearly been killed by one of Antonin Dolohov's curses, which had hit her in the chest, causing her to stay in Hogwarts' hospital wing for a few weeks. She still had, from what he had heard in the last few weeks, to take a couple potions a day to keep the pain away.

And Ron hadn't fared better. His red-haired, freckled, tall, lanky and gangly-looking friend had been attacked by _brains_, masses of gray matters that wildly failed around with their wire-like tentacles and held onto everything they entered in contact with, even humans. Ron, according to his parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, still had welts on his arms, a reminder of his ordeals at the proverbial hands of his attackers. He still spent most of his nights suffering strange dreams and thoughts that weren't his own. He even had paid St Mungo (the wizarding world's main hospital) a visit but the healers hadn't come up with a treatment against his wounds. They couldn't find what exactly was wrong with him. They just couldn't locate the source of the pain and they knew that tampering with one's soul or mind was like gambling with the Grim Reaper. They chose the lesser pain - leave him with his problems instead of taking the risk of adding a few more to the list.

_Even though they didn't come out unscathed out of our encounter in the Department, they're still willing to follow me_, Harry thought, gazing at the ceiling. _But all I want is for them to be safe. It isn't really much, is it? What price must I pay to see that day where people will be safe behind me, away from any source of harm? Maybe my life._

'Hoot.'

"You're right, Hedwig. I'm drifting away where I shouldn't go," he admitted to his friend. "I could use a little distraction, though, but I need to think about this whole mess. I know, it's really a fucked-up situation but I can't help it. Either I run away from the pain or I confront it. Neither of them promise me any good. Just their share of pain." Unconsciously flexing his muscles as a physical response to his unease and the fear creeping inside himself, he let out a deep breath. "I wish I could find a way out, though."

His musings were abruptly interrupted when a sharp tapping from the window behind him made him turn his head. Harry found himself gazing into the large, beady eyes of a dark-feathered owl. One that bore the crest of Gringotts, the Goblin bank that served the entire wizard world.

Harry's face paled instantly. The moment he had feared all summer long had come.

**

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**An author's notes: _Of stories woven and the aftermath_**

This is my first attempt to HP fanfiction. I took off from Neon Genesis Evangelion since that area is slowly dying and the old, good authors are no longer updating or getting dreadful delays in their works. I had to write three different drafts of the prologue to finally get it right, even though, in the end, I came up with a rather disappointing chapter filled with musings and dark thoughts. I wanted for the truly interesting things and other developments to come up later. In chapter two, in fact. So, you know the drill. Read. And. Review.

As I am making up this series on pure impulse and do not really have a clear synopsis in mind, your notes can give me good advices on how I could fix up my writing. But remember one thing: even though English is my mother tongue, I am no more used to speak it fluently. Which means that some of my sentences might sound a bit complicated or hard to read. I don't know. Choice of word will probably look simplistic, too. I don't usually go for complicated words. Just the necessary - unless I really need specific terms to qualify or designate a theme, object, person or theory. If you're an author, you know what it means.

Want to drop me an e-mail? You're welcome, AS LONG AS IT IS CONSTRUCTIVE. **FLAMES ARE NOT WELCOME**. If you want to flame me, don't bother sending me a mail. Keep your opinion to yourself. I'm okay if you want to criticize me and tell me off for my flaws (that is, in a _pacific_ and _constructive_ way), but if you bite my head off just for pure fun or because you want to mess up with me, then get lost. I don't call that responsible or mature. I call it 'an asshole's attitude'. If you don't like my series, just stop reading and search for other fics to mess around with. Leave me alone. Questions? I'm there to answer them. Notes? Give them to me, I'll see what I can do with them. Advice? They're welcome, as long as you show me why and where they're needed. I can't just put it inside just for fun.

If you want the chapters in their original format, drop me a message, too. FFN seems to ruin the formatting as well as making some symbols disappear, much to my displeasure. Send me a can of Coca-Cola along with your message, that's the fee for my answer (grin).

_Until next time,_

**abi2301**


	2. Chapter 02: Messages, disagreements and ...

**Harry Potter: A Soul In Tension**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 02**

**v.01: 02/28/2005**

**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Soul In Tension' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

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**Chapter 02: ****Messages, disagreements and plots**

With a shaking hand, Harry Potter reached towards the Gringotts owl, dreading the content of the message the bird carried on its leg. Untying the scroll of paper with unsure fingers, he found himself being wracked from the inside by a strong sense of sadness, desperation mixed by foreboding and yet...a strange sliver of determination woven between the previous feelings. _I know what it is and I will read it to its end. I swear. For HIM_, he thought, steeling himself for the task at hand. The dark-feathered owl blinked in obvious interrogation, not quite comprehending the unease of its message's addressee. Usually, they bore a much eager face than that. After all, money was a source of rejoicing, right? It seemed that this time was an exception to the rule.

Harry unfolded the message, reading the tidy scrawl etched onto the fabric, the lines filled with sympathetic sternness, if the oxymoron could exist.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_It has come to our knowledge that your godfather, Lord Sirius Orion Black, Heir and current Head of the Most Noble House of Black and the Terrington line, has recently passed away; may he rest in peace. According to wizarding laws, a ceremony of inheritance must be performed in order for those cited in the deceased person's will to come in possession of their share of Mr. Black's assets, in accordance to his will. As you are his main heir, given by name, your presence is requested here, at Gringotts Bank, Diagon Alley, to perform the ceremony in all legality._

_However, according to the 9856th Ministry Decree, Appendix A, instituted on the 26th of July, 1714, if the aforementioned parties do not present themselves at the inheritance ritual at the set span of time, all assets, titles and family rights will be relinquished to the Ministry since no one has claimed or just forfeiting the right of possession. The material assets will then be redistributed or sold to the public but the money will be donated to Gringotts' Security Fund Association to help us increase our security measures and improve our ability to serve you as a banking institution._

_You have until the fifth of August to present yourself at our offices, in Diagon Alley. Please inform our services as soon as possible if you are unable to come or are prevented from attending the ceremony. In that eventuality, steps will be taken in order to make things possible or easier, in your best interests._

_We wish to hear from you soon and we would like to offer you our deepest condolences for your loss._

_Sincerely,_

_Goblin Ripbag, Senior Elderblood Solicitor, Gringotts Bank_

_Sirius' will._

Those two words spoke louder than an encyclopedia or a thesis about sadness and human misery. Right here, in front of his eyes, was the definite proof, the official sign that Sirius Orion Black, was indeed _dead_. Harry had for a long time harbored the hope of seeing his godfather rise from the shadows hidden by the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. For many weeks he had replayed that horrid scene in his mind, recalling how Sirius' body, after being hit by one of Bellatrix Lestrange's spell, had eerily glided towards the Veil and passed beyond the cold fabric, never to be seen again. All that because _he, _Harry, hadn't bothered practicing Occlumency enough. The lesson had hit Harry harder than any other as it had taken him the loss of his closest impression to a father to understand that shielding one's mind was critical in staying sane and safe. Hermione's voice, in his head, however, kept on disagreeing. _Dumbledore didn't tell you how important it was, Harry! It's not your fault! It's true that you should have practiced Occlumency every time before going to bed. If Dumbledore said so then it had to be done with a lot of attention thrown in! Oh, Harry..._

"The will..."

His voice caught in his throat. The two owls looked at him in alarm, seeing how pale his face had gone. His hard-gained self-control was slipping away in a now rare but deep show of weakness. Harry immediately braced himself, trying to keep the spreading cold out of his body. "I will...not...give up..." he choked. Hedwig went out of her still open cage and in a flurry of feathers, took off and landed on Harry's shoulder, soothing him with one of her wings, rubbing her limb over his raven-haired head. Harry weakly stroke her back, in a token of gratitude. "Thanks, girl...I'll...be...okay...just let me for...a few minutes, okay? Just a few minutes." He breathed in deeply then let out. He would get over it, he would get over it, he promised himself. Dropping heavily on his bed, he looked around, his gaze finally falling on Gringotts' owl, which still was waiting on the windowsill, obviously awaiting an answer for him. Looking at the animal for a couple of seconds, he got up, walked to his desk and snatched a blank piece of parchment off a stack of notes. Dipping his feather quill in his ink bottle, he jotted down a few words, confirming his coming to the Inheritance Ceremony. Surely the Order would let him go to the ritual and let him mourn definitively his now confirmed dead godfather.

He rolled up the parchment and tied it to the owl's leg. The bird looked at him gratefully and took off, its gracious form rising towards the sun, until it became just a black speck in a field of light. Harry kept on looking, trying to feel the sun's heat but perceiving but coldness within his entrails. It was just like a dementor attacking him.

"I...cannot go on like that. I must be strong," he muttered to himself. Hedwig hooted in approval, showing her support towards her distressed master. Harry had tried to forget the eventuality of such an event and had so far succeeded. Until today. But as much as it tore his heart apart because of the unbidden memories, it also instilled him with a feeling of...eagerness? Yes. He was definitively looking forward to attending the ritual. He would get over Sirius, but he would not forget him. His long-haired, ex-convict godfather wouldn't have wanted him mulling dark and self-destructing thoughts and drowning in depression. He would have wanted to see him free and full of life. Ready to vanquish Voldemort.

Harry looked once again at the ceiling, as if trying to see Sirius, there, somewhere in the heavens. His demeanor grew cold for a moment, as his lips uttered a single, hard, sentence, devoid of any feeling. "I swear, Sirius, on all that I am, that I will avenge you. I'll kill him. For you. For Dad and Mum. For everyone. I swear."

Unbeknownst to him, Harry's body started to slightly glow, as the wizard's oath took place and was sealed by the young teenager's magic. He had sworn an Ulciscor Oath. The Oath of Revenge. An empty glass of water rattled on the nightstand, as if an unseen vibration ruined the perfect stillness reigning in the room. Even Hedwig seemed to notice the drop in temperature in the surroundings. As animals were more perceptive to those layers of reality, she was the only being in the household who perfectly understood what Harry had just done. As well as the implications of the boy's actions.

Harry went back to his desk and retrieved Gringotts' letter from it. He reread the message, taking in the hidden meanings. _I cannot let the Ministry seize control of his possessions. That would be the final insult. They imprisoned him without a semblance of a trial and it would be completely sadistic from their part if they were to gain possession of his assets. I won't let them do it. I won't give them that satisfaction. _His eyes darted downwards, until they fell upon a single word, one he had never heard before. _Elderblood? What in the blazes is that? I know 'pureblood', 'half-blood' and that stinking 'mudblood' but 'elderblood'? _He had never heard that word around him. He figured that it might be one of these old-fashioned wizard terms pertaining to blood purity, a notion that he despised above everything else. A long time before Harry, one man named Martin Luther King had proclaimed that he had dreamed of a society where his sons wouldn't be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. Harry completely agreed with the individual's opinion, even though that then-groundbreaking declaration had been the cause of his death. There were people who hated to see the foundations of their world being shaken apart. Voldemort's followers were some of them. Purity of blood. _Sounds like Hitler's beliefs._

"Elderblood?" he asked Hedwig, not seeing the ridicule in his actions - trying to converse with an animal that couldn't reply or just be understood by a human being. "Ah...well. I might ask Hermione about it, though," he mused, turning around to look for another blank sheet of paper. He found one under two transfiguration books and started his letter.

_Dear Hermione,_

_How has life been treating you lately? I know that I don't really have the right or good conscience to ask you that, but I feel the need to. I'm sorry for what happened in the Ministry. Yes, I know, I already said in my previous letter but I still want you to know it. A lot of things happened down there and I don't know if I might forgive myself for them one day. I'll see how it will turn out._

_Apart from that, have you been enjoying your holidays? I heard you made a trip to France, in Paris, I think. Was the weather good? Did you enjoy yourself? I hope so. For my part, I've been stuck up here in my room at Privet Drive. After all, it's not like as if I could get abroad without having an Order member catching me by the collar and dragging me back home and tutting away about my being the wizarding world's only hope to vanquish You-know-who. I even doubt they'd let me as much as put a step in Diagon Alley. Your safety comes first, Harry. Your safety comes first. For the greater good, as would say Dumbledore._

_Yes, you're right. I'm bitter towards him. We had shared some words after the events in the Department and most of what I learnt was not to my liking. If not it only made helllook like a holiday inn resort compared to my current life. Don't ask me what he made me hear. I'm not ready to share it yet, but you'll be the first to know when the time will be right. You have my word on it. Just trust me. I just need the time to put myself together and face reality the way I truly should._

_Which brings to my next topic. As I said a few weeks ago, I'm working out. Physically and mentally. Oh no, Hermione, don't you die of heart attack on me! Yes, you heard me right! I'm studying! And now, the _coup de grace_ for you: I've been reading books. Theory books. Oh, the shock! Call an ambulance! Come on, seriously, Hermione, a lot of things changed ever since the end of our school year. Rules have changed and so have I. For the best, for the worst? I don't know, you'll have to find out. In the meantime, I've already done my homework. I finished it three weeks ago and now I'm spending my time tearing through pages of Defense Against the Dark Arts to avoid dying of boredom in my room. There's nothing else left to do. Hedwig can't even fly around during daytime, you know. This place has everything of a gulag, only without the cold._

_And..._

_This morning, I received a letter from Gringotts._

_Yes. I think you've guessed what was enclosed in it. Gringotts was asking me to attend the Inheritance Ceremony. I'll try to be there before the fifth of next month otherwise everything will be seized by the Ministry, those blundering, incompetent, greedy vultures if not to say more...I wish to come there alone, if it's possible. Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to avoid you or something like that. I just want to keep my head clear and not be distracted by anything else. I have to come to terms with Sirius' death. And mourn him one last time._

_By the way, in the message, there was one word, an honorific or official title, that was used by the Head Solicitor. 'Elderblood'. Do you know anything about it? I thought you might have an idea as to what it might be. I wanted to ask Ron about it, but the Weasleys would automatically report my query back to Dumbledore, and I particularly don't feel like having him breathing down my neck and watching each of my moves or thoughts. So I chose to ask _you_, as you doubtlessly retain more knowledge of the wizarding world in your mind than me, oh poor, unworthy, simple wizard that I am. Could you enlighten as to what it is? I'd be glad to hear from you very soon. I miss talking with someone. The Dursleys aren't exactly chat material, did you know about it? -smirk-_

_I'll send Ron and Ginny a letter later. I thought that this had more importance right now, so I began straight away your letter._

_Oh, and one last thing. Don't mention any of this to Dumbledore. I'm not exactly very keen to have a talk with him right now. The same goes for any Order member. Scratch that, any wizard or witch. Including Ron and Ginny._

_I hope to see you soon._

_Love from,_

_Harry._

Harry reread twice his letter then sealed it shut with his wand. As the parchment was already enchanted, the act wouldn't trigger any alarms in the Ministry's Misuse of Underage Magic Department. The enchantment recognized the magical signature of the wand (which serves a power concentrator and focus system) and just initiated the wanted change. In this case, sealing the sheet. He then attached it to Hedwig's leg, already feeling the bird's eagerness to carry the message to its addressee. The pet was obviously delighted to do something for a change and her happy hoots only confirmed Harry's suspicions. Not that he minded, of course. He'd be the last to ever deny his friend such a pleasure. She was doing what she was meant to do. Just like him, but for a more trivial role.

"Girl, listen to me," he spoke directly to the snow white owl, a sense of seriousness filling his words. "I must tell you a few things before you go. No, listen to me. There, there. I want you to bring this directly to Hermione, okay? Her and her only. Not anyone else. Not even her parents or any individuals around that you're acquainted with. Not even Dumbledore," he added, his voice hardening. "Same rules for the way back here, girl. Nobody is to read our messages, okay?" Hedwig let out a semi-indignant hoot, her eyes clearly asking 'do you really think I would do such a thing?' Harry's eyes softened for a while. "No, I trust you, but the Order will probably intercept the message to see whether I'm saying too much or to see what I'm doing right now. It's their way to control my life. Our lives. So don't let them take the letter away. Attack them if they try to do it. And keep on biting them until you get your message back or they back down. If they try to read it, then do whatever you can to destroy the message. Got it?" Hedwig hooted approvingly. "That's my girl."

He brought her back to the window and released her. Once again he watched the bird fade away in the horizon, a feeling of loneliness draining his morale away. "Because _I _want to be the one in control."

He turned back towards his books, passing a hand over the rugged surface, feeling the power underneath. The means to fulfill his destiny.

"I want to be the one who _controls _my own life."

And so he swore to the world surrounding him. His vow rang without answer in the silence.

For the first time in this summer, he truly was alone.

* * *

"What? Care to repeat that, Albus?" sputtered Remus Lupin, whirling around to stare back into the headmaster's eyes, disbelief etched onto his features.

The old wizard sighed deeply, obviously having foreseen such complications to arise after his previous statement. "Harry cannot attend the Inheritance Ceremony, Remus. It's too risky, with Voldemort's followers stalking around for the smallest piece of information. If only one of them would as much as have a glimpse of him, the results could be catastrophic. Now that the Dark Lord has resurfaced and proclaimed to the world his resurrection, he is no longer safe in the wizarding world, except for his own house and of course, Hogwarts."

The werewolf remained silent, not believing one word of what he had just heard. He knew that Albus Dumbledore went to many lengths in order to prevent people from being hurt but this was utterly ridiculous, if not revolting. "Safe...you're telling me that you're concerned with his safety?" he whispered, the edge in his voice getting increasingly firm and sharp. "He is safe nowhere, Albus!" Remus exploded. "Not even at Hogwarts! In his first year, from what you told me, he had to wrestle the Philosopher's Stone out of You-know-who's hands! Second year, he had to battle a bloody basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets!" Dumbledore tried to stop him but the former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor kept on shouting, indignation radiating off his entire being. "Third year...he...he had to fight me and try to catch Pettigrew before he could try to get back to his master! Fourth year, he nearly got killed because of Crouch! And last year was the pinnacle of his so-called safety!" he raged on. "How could you deem him safe where he is?"

"The blood wards set around the house will prevent Death Eaters from entering the building, Remus. I trust that they will hold on as long as Harry is inside to keep the shields up."

Remus strode up to Dumbledore's desk and slammed his hands on its top, before leaning forward, eyes narrowing in pent-up anger. "Yes...as long as he considers it as his _home_. But you made sure, by giving him to the Dursleys, that he would hate that area and those bloody relatives of his! If he cannot call the house his home anymore, then the wards will _fail!_"

The chief warlock looked away, an odd sense of serenity around him. "The wards are still up, Remus - I can still feel them. They will hold up."

"But for how long? By denying him his freedom, you destroyed his will to..."

"Enough, Remus. Harry will stay where he is. It's for his own safety. Surely you wouldn't think that his parents wouldn't have wanted that?" Remus recoiled, as if slapped. Blood drained from his face and for a moment, his interlocutor feared that the former Marauder might have a heart stroke. "How low of you!"

"I admit," said Dumbledore, eyes downcast in modest regret. "That I should have used Lily and James to make my point, but Harry must be kept safe at all costs" he emphasized. "We cannot lose our sole chance to destroy Voldemort by allowing him to wander away and get at arm's length from the Dark Lord's followers. We came very close to losing him last year, Remus" he concluded, hoping that it would put an end to this discussion. He knew that Remus Lupin had very badly taken his old friend's death and had dramatically changed during the past two months. From an individual whose soul was impregnation with wisdom and caution he had changed into someone harsher, with a more wry spirit. He had lost two surrogate brothers. He wouldn't afford himself to lose James' son and would go to any extent to keep Voldemort's troops at bay, even if it should cost him his life. But the point upon which Dumbledore and the ex-Marauder disagreed greatly was Harry's _mental _well-being. Remus was willing to let Harry go outside as long as it helped him heal his wounds whilst Dumbledore wouldn't even let him leave Privet Drive.

"So is that all you see in him?" Remus roared, making some wizard portraits in the luxurious office cringe and others mutter in indignation. "A WEAPON? IS THAT IT?"

"Remus, PLEASE!" the old headmaster bellowed back, feeling himself loose control over his own exasperation. "Only Harry has the means to vanquish the Dark Lord, don't you understand it? We must keep him safe as we have done so for the past five years! If we do not ensure his safety, then not only will he lose his life but we will also lose all hope of ending this war! More countless people will die if we do not keep Harry away from the war until the final confrontation!"

Remus's knuckles went deathly white as they gripped the edge of the desk, as if holding on for dear life. "Don't you understand that that type of behavior that that line of action was what get SIRIUS killed two months ago, do you? DO YOU? You kept him bottled up in that hellhole of his, where you left him to mull over the painful memories of his childhood and look how it all ended up!" The words came with great difficulty. _Forgive me, Sirius...brother...but I must say the words. _Dumbledore had the decency to look slightly ashamed as Remus screamed his opinion into the old wizard's face. "I know...an old man's mistake...but I cannot afford myself to commit more of that sort. That's why Harry has to stay where he is. Away from danger."

The graying wizard snarled in barely contained fury and strode away, leaving the richly decorated office and slamming its door behind him. Dumbledore looked at his pet phoenix, Fawkes, who was currently sitting on his own perch and looking around with unreadable, beady eyes. "Times change...people change...yet the pain still lingers. Do you think we have any hope left to vanquish the dark without being destroyed from the inside, by intestine quarrels?" he asked the red-feathered bird, looking with a sorry expression.

Strangely, for the first time in many centuries, Fawkes didn't trill in answer. But what Dumbledore couldn't tell was whether the animal didn't offer an answer because of an unspoken disagreement or because he didn't have an answer to give.

For the first time in many weeks, a wave of heat had finally reached Great Britain, chasing cool air away and finally giving the country's denizens with their first true glimpse of summer weather. The temperature level, however, kept on increasing, much to the displeasure of people who didn't like sunbathing in their garden or fancied gardening. The air hung heavy above the ground, its stillness randomly broken by small gusts of wind, which people eagerly welcomed to ease their discomfort towards the sunrays.

In the Grangers' household, both adults, Mrs. Diana and Mr. Nicholas, both renowned dentists in their district, had retreated in the cold, soothing atmosphere of a half-sealed house. Windows were left closed and the air conditioning was working at full power, bringing cooled masses of air to wash through the house and refresh its inhabitants. While the Granger family didn't mind the heat of the French Provence, it still had its tolerance limit. Especially when one of its members had to stay indoors to recover from a slight physical problem. Hermione Granger had been hospitalized in the end of her fifth year at Hogwarts. She had been one of the six students that had snuck inside the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries and had to fight off determined Death Eaters. Most of the teenagers had suffered from at least one type of injury and five of them had to sleep in Hogwarts' Hospital Wing to speed their recovery. Hermione had been hit with a dark curse, right in the chest. Fortunately, she had had good instincts during that fateful night and had been able to conjure up a shield in front of the incoming spell. Even though it didn't stop the beam of magic from hitting and incapacitating her, the interference had changed the spell's matrix parameters and modified its effects. As a result, she had not had her heart torn out of her ribcage, but merely suffered from a corruption of a bludgeoning spell.

The damage wasn't very critical, but rather...extensive. In order to heal her slightly 'traumatized' lungs, she still had to take a couple of potions per week, the flasks being sent directly to her by none other than Severus Snape, her much-hated but highly competent potions professor. Along with directives from madam Pomfrey, the school's appointed nurse. Leaning on her bed with her omnipresent books around her, Hermione was leading a battle of sorts, one not fought with great arms covered in blood and gore but waged with interrogations, thoughts and reflections. _I wonder what Harry's doing right now. Probably working like a slave for those horrible Dursleys! I really don't know why Dumbledore allowed them his guardianship - it's completely preposterous! They don't care one whit about him, they only see him as a...a freak! And with what happened two months ago...he really should be owling us more letters - at least we would be able to help him and not sit around!_ she lamented, looking at her neat, ever-tidy room, with its logically arranged bookcase and its spotless desk laden with perfectly vertical stacks of paper - the epitome of meticulousness and order. _Even Ron says that Harry's letters have diminished in amount and frequency. I hope Remus or the Order pays him a visit or two per week to liven him up or all those memories will eat him up from the inside._

"Minee?"

Her head swiveled on her right, to find herself gazing at the bright blue eyes of her younger sister, Kathleen. She also had brown, curly hair but the similarity ended there. Her face was more round and had her father's eyes instead of her mother's, a feature that was passed onto the eldest daughter, Hermione. Both sisters were had what the family called 'the bookworm syndrome', a strange knack for staying a great amount of time in libraries and ransack bookshops, much to the owners' pleasure. Kathleen, on another hand, didn't have one ounce of magic in her blood, a characteristic that kept her close to her parents during school year, unlike Hermione, who had to go to Hogwarts and stay there for the rest of the year to complete her studies.

"Yes, Kath. Is there something wrong?" she asked, rising from her bed to face her sibling. Her chest flared for a brief instant but she paid it no heed as she had grown accustomed to those feelings during their stay in France.

"No, I just wanted to see if you were okay," the girl answered, looking at the crate of flasks on the nightstand. "Mom told me to check up on you and ask you if you needed something." Concern could be seen deep inside those cerulean blue orbs, filled with an unspoken love that Hermione cherished more than anything else in this world. "No, it's okay."

"Okay, Minee" nodded the girl, using her nickname for her sister. "But don't hesitate to tell us if you're requiring something, okay?" During all summer long she had been pampered by her family but she couldn't hold that against her siblings as it was just a display of affection from their part. She didn't want to be considered as a fragile object that could break down at any moment. Kathleen left the room, leaving Hermione to think over the events of the past school year, the worst one so far. She had told her parents that her injury was the consequence of a stray spell that had been badly performed and remained quiet about the Death Eaters and the confrontation in the Ministry of Magic as she didn't want them to worry too much over her.

Setting her _Transfiguration Advances Throughout the Nineteenth Century _book by Celsia Cudgeon on her bed, she stood up and looked out of the window, taking in the ravishing scenery in front of her. Her family was somewhat wealthy and as one blonde-haired boy in Slytherin might have said, money was a doorway to luxury. Not that she minded, of course, but she didn't spoke aloud of her wealth, as most of Hogwarts' students weren't rolling in gold and were often coming from the middle classes. Turning away to shield her eyes from the glaring sun, she tried to forget her worries and clear her mind but once again, she couldn't bring herself to enjoy the current weather. Her thoughts once again drifted away towards the wizarding world. Reaching to her right, she set the radio on. A scratchy voice rose from the black contraption, breaking the peaceful silence.

_"...Reports of gang attacks in the Devonshire, resulting in the death of twelve people and many other injuries. Twenty individuals had to be sent to the nearby hospitals for intensive care even though their current state has still not been disclosed by the local authorities. The police is currently trying to put an end to all those attacks, often led against common..."_ Sighing with desperation, she flipped the switch off, knowing what the bulletin truly was about. _The Death Eaters are becoming more and more brazen - they don't even fear wandering out in the open and firing spells at Muggles. I can't believe everything is crashing down. Two months ago everything was quiet; now it's become a true hell._

A rustle of beating wings tore her off her grim thoughts. Whipping her head towards the windowsill in anticipation, Hermione's face lit up as she saw a white owl sitting outside, gazing at her with merry eyes. "Hedwig!" Taking the owl by her hands, she carried the bird towards her desk, before untying the scroll of parchment. Rubbing the length of the rolled sheet of paper with her own wand, she unsealed the document. After reading twice the content of the letter, she let a frown invade her face. _Elderblood? _Surprisingly, she had never heard of that term before, a strange occurrence for a girl that spent her time in books, trying to find more and more about the world's unknown aspects and piling pieces of knowledge on top of the other - like building a mountain of sorts. _And - good grief - Harry must be now upset with Sirius' will. I'm really sorry he had to receive that message. He doesn't need a reminder of Sirius' death, but I'm happy he's trying at least to get over it by reading about magic. And he's actually done with his homework? What an achievement!_ she beamed inwardly, delighted by her friend's willingness to actually work during summer. _But then again, he's got nothing other to do. I guess I should be glad for him. I wonder when we could meet each other with the Weasleys so that we could share our knowledge. Even the DA could benefit from our studies. _Once again, the planning part in her awoke, taking over her mind. _If we could set up...well, we'll see that later with Harry and Ron._

She looked back at Harry's letter and frowned when she saw the part about Dumbledore and the Order. She could understand Harry's anger towards the Headmaster but she harbored the opinion that he shouldn't alienate himself from the only wizard known to be feared by Voldemort. They could help each other and...

_Ron and Ginny, too? He must be trying not to bother other people or...well, it's true that Ron has a poor notion of confidentiality and secret-keeping, after all. It makes sense but I still don't agree. I'll live with it, for the time being, though._

Taking a fresh sheet of paper and a feather quill from her desk, she started to write her answer to Harry Potter.

She only hoped that the least thing she could do right now was help him through his ordeals, no matter what it took.

Everyone of them would need it.

"That nerve of his!" snarled Remus Lupin as he tore through Hogwarts' deserted passageways, striding towards the Great Hall. During the school year the whole place was bustling with animated people, chatting over trivial matters and how life went on, but during the holidays, the castle was as silent and lonely as a tomb in a desert. All teachers were currently enjoying their vacations, even though some of them regularly paid the Headmaster a visit for the incoming year, seeking advice for the new courses and curriculums. The werewolf half-ran out of the building, towards the small wizarding village on the grounds' outskirts, Hogsmeade. He paid no attention to the world around him, not even sparing a glance to the Whomping Willow and the Shrieking Shack, a lone island of bad memories sitting in the distance. His mind was elsewhere, working furiously on a problem that plagued his conscience. Sprinting down the stony path that led down to Hogsmeade, he kept on thinking about the discussion he had just had with the Headmaster. The wheels of an enormous machine were definitely in motion but it seemed to him that they were working in the wrong direction. He needed to change all that, for the world's sake. As soon as he reached the anti-Apparition wards, he willed himself away, disappearing with a loud crack from the hill he was standing upon.

When he felt his feet slam back on solid ground, he heard a surprising shriek from his right, immediately followed by a large crash. Whipping his wand around in alarm, the former DADA professor found himself gazing at the prone form of Nymphadora Tonks, sprawled on the floor, a turned-over chair beside her. She had obviously been leaning back on her seat when he had Apparated in, startling her and making her loose her precarious equilibrium. "Errr...sorry, Tonks..." he greeted her with a apologetic smile, helping her get back on her feet. The metamorphmagus wore that day long, purple hair and a narrow face, reminding Remus of her late surrogate uncle, Sirius Black. He could actually see the similarities between the two relatives at that moment. "Well...wotcher, Remus!" she answered back, dusting her robes off. She was famous in her department for her hopeless clumsiness, a flaw that had earned her a nice nickname from her fellow Auror: 'The Klutz'. She kept on tripping over items and pieces of furniture that were easily avoidable, a bad habit of hers that nearly made her fail her 'stealth' exam when she had applied for her job. But she made it up by acing on her DADA course, a nice comeback for those who had to put up with her and knew that they could rely on the petite but ever-cheery girl.

"Sorry for that, I knew I should have Apparated inside the hall and knocked on the door" he apologized. Even though he had changed in demeanor, Remus still was the placid, cautious and wise man people grew to know. He just thought that another type of behavior was needed right now in those times of woe.

"It's okay, it's okay - so what brings you here?" she grinned embarrassedly at the graying man, trying to keep him off his downcast mood. He had lately lost Sirius and his entourage had somehow agreed on making his life easier. Remus sighed, running a hand through his neatly combed hair, knowing that this was the hard part of what he was planning to do.

"Have you received your Gringotts letter?" he asked directly. Tonks' mood instantly deflated. The Blacks weren't exactly known for their benevolence towards Muggleborns and showed nothing but scorn at those individuals they deemed lower than scum. Sirius, however, was another case. His hate of his own family and the beliefs it held had changed him into a more understanding, gentle person, but the small Slytherin part in his heart was what had made him a Marauder. Love of pranks and disrespect towards rules. "Yeah - I just got it this morning. It's up to the fifth of next month. Did you...receive yours?" she asked cautiously, knowing that the matter was still to be considered as sensible when it came to talking to Remus.

The man nodded, his throat constricted by grief and invisible indignation. "Yeah. I don't expect from Sirius a lot of money, even though I think he planned to leave me with a fair share of the Black and Terrington vaults' content. I just expect some things...closer to the heart. Souvenirs and the such..." he trailed off, gathering up his courage. His own rage towards Dumbledore, however, was what made him break his own reluctance. "I suppose Harry's received it too" he told Tonks, seeing her slightly smile as he spoke of his 'adopted' godson. "And that's where the problem is."

"What?" asked a frowning Tonks. "Don't you think he should get a part of his godfather? Something that could remind him of what Sirius while he was still alive?"

Remus waved her off. "The problem is not there. I do want Harry to be there - I hope that it will help him get over Sirius but Dumbledore doesn't want him to leave his house for the holidays, no matter what?"

"What? Blimey, is the old man crazy? How many bats has he got in his belfry?" she asked. "Harry needs to go to the Inheritance Ceremony! He has the right to! How could Dumbledore tell him not to go?"

"I don't think Harry even _knows_, Nymphadora." Tonks scowled when she heard her much-hated first name. _Why did my parents name me like that?_ "Dumbledore doesn't want him...to...err...'be distracted by disturbing events that could hamper his ability to fight back if need be' as the old coot put it. He wants Harry under control. He doesn't care one piece of shit about his mental well-being, Tonks. He just doesn't know what's best for people. He just follows his own opinion. Just look what it did last year."

"Could we talk him out of it?" asked Tonks, pacing around in furious circles, thinking deeply. She had grown fond of the boy, nearly considering him as a distant cousin or a younger brother. The bond between Sirius and Harry had somewhat rubbed off on her and she felt the same commitment most 'intimate' people had towards the Boy-who-lived. Unconsciously, her blue eyes took a slightly grayer shade, as he metamorphmagus skills answered to her mind's concentration and mood. "I mean - surely, if he's got Harry's well-being in mind, he could agree to letting him go to Gringotts, isn't it? After all, the place's loaded with protection charms and wards - I know it, I saw the list from the Ministry's archives a while ago. What does he risk in there? If it's a private ritual then what danger hangs over his head?"

"Tonks, you don't get it" moaned Remus. "Dumbledore doesn't want to take any risk. Ever since You-know-who possessed Harry for a brief instant in the Ministry of Magic, he got afraid that Harry's mind might become corrupted from the Dark Lord's Legilimency attacks. He's fearing that Harry might go to the darkness." Tonks' eyes flew wide in shock. "Harry confessed to me that he had used the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange during the confrontation, just after...after Sirius' passing...the spell didn't work correctly, but Harry made the step beyond the set limit, Tonks. He just took the step beyond. And as the saying goes, if you did it once you can do it once again. Dumbledore wants to _control_ Harry. He wants him kept in check, like a vulgar weapon. I guess that during last year's meetings, the weapon he told us about was not only the prophecy but _Harry._"

Tonks remained silent, mouth agape in horror. "But...but what can we do then?"

"Well, Tonks, that is where _you _come in. I need to speak to you and Alastor now. We've got plans to make."

* * *

He clutched the letter in his hand, shaking with barely contained fury. The shovel he was previously holding was lying on the ground, dropped in surprise and anger. _How could that old bastard do that to me?_ he raged in his mind, desperately trying to keep his self-control. Once again he was being attacked through a very sensible spot in his soul: his right to control his own existence and abide by his own choices. _But once again, it's not like he left me with any choices before, isn't it? Keeping Hermione and Ron in Grimmauld Place without inviting me, keeping the prophecy away from me...what's next now? FORBID ME FROM BREATHING?_

Once again, he looked at the message, trying to understand why his Headmaster and former idol, had come to such a decision.

_Harry,_

_I know that Gringotts has requested your presence in their building for Sirius' Inheritance Ceremony. While it pains me to make such a decision, I must ask you not to go there, as the wizarding world, especially in a place as open and bustling with activity like Diagon Alley, is not yet safe for you. Death Eaters are still on the rampage and wouldn't hesitate to take a shot at you and since you're forbidden to practice magic during your holidays until the Ministry considers you of age, you would find yourself in a tight spot._

_You must understand me, Harry. It's all for your safety. You must stay within your house's wards, where your mother's blood protection will keep you away from Voldemort's grasp. You must, at all costs, keep a low profile and not attract attention to yourself. Hogwarts and your home are the only places safe for you and until school term begins, you must imperatively stay put, until the Order comes to fetch you for King's Cross Station._

_Yours sincerely,_

_A.D._

He tore the message into shreds, before crunching the bits into a tight ball. He didn't notice the fabric getting redder, before actually bursting in flame, set afire by Harry's growing ire. As it was only accidental magic, the Misuse of Underage Magic Enforcement Department didn't paid it the occurrence any heed, as only wands were tracked, not the wizards' or witches' body. The letter instantly turned to ashes, falling onto Aunt Petunia's begonias. _I must find a way to get at Gringotts, before the Order brings me back. Safety to be ensured or not, I will go to Diagon Alley!_ he raged in his mind. The world around him had faded away, the scorching heat dissipating like a wisp of smoke in the billowing wind, leaving Harry alone with his frustration.

"Boy! Get back to work!" bellowed his uncle, while his aunt scowled at him. "Daydreaming again? Your laziness is an insult to humanity, just like your...lot!" At this, the beefy-faced man turned wildly around, as if expected wizards to come out of the blue and get back at him for his declaration. He retreated back inside his house, slamming the door behind him. Aunt Petunia kept eyeing him from the window, making sure he didn't ruin her precious garden and hoping to catch snippets of conversation from the neighbors' households. Gossip always needed fresh material to remain interesting.

With as much as a grunt of acknowledgement towards his relatives' opinion, he picked up the shovel from its place on the ground as started digging a small hole around the plants, to put some fertilizer in it. After that, he would have to cut the grass in the front lane, to keep up the Dursleys' appearances. If he didn't finish in less than one hour, he wouldn't get his dinner tonight. Malnourishment and food deprivation were out of question for him. His training and studying needed a lot of nutrients to keep the pace even.

_I need to talk to Remus. He might help me. Or...no, not the Order. Maybe Uncle Vernon? No, he'd think I'm trying to get his car crashed or something like that. Hermione's parents? Maybe, but I don't want to be a bother. Remus, yeah, definitely. He'll understand. He'll understand._

With that, he went back to work, not knowing that elsewhere, other individuals were also making plans of and on their own.

Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody was a man of many facets. Otherwise famous for his maddening paranoia and the scars he bore all over his body - the results of many a duel against dark wizards - nobody knew exactly what were his true passions. Hiding behind the appearance of a watchful and a cautious, retired Auror, he loved spreading around him a feeling of control and intimidation. Deterrence was the specific term to qualify the aura he endeavored to radiate off himself. He had, through the atmosphere his demeanor created, instilled fear inside countless criminals' hearts, forcing them to comply to his orders and reveal their deepest secrets. He actually held the efficiency record in the Auror Department when it came to extracting information from convicts and suspected Death Eaters. But his success had not come without heavy prices, as the loss of one leg and one eye, and his being covered with scars and sometimes missing patches of flesh and skin on his limbs and face. Everybody knew the highly competent law enforcer that he was but very few could boast knowing who Alastor truly was underneath his impenetrable armor.

Fewer even where those who knew his love of whiskey and wine, as well as his secret passion for history books. In a way, he believed that History repeated itself over time, like a tide crashing over and over a ruined beach. The events that had occurred two months ago were a proof of his theory. _Those who do not know History are condemned to repeat it till the end of Time. _Indulging himself with a sip of Scottish Macallan bourbon, he took the time to survey his surroundings, gazing through walls and darkness, scanning the horizon for any queer sign or detail that might hide an attack against himself. _There are so many ways to kill somebody, and nobody can think of everything. Therefore constant vigilance must be used to avoid dire situations from which one can't escape. _His gaze fell upon his two visitors, eyeing them with great care.

"Are you sure you want to go forward with this?" he asked them with his usually gruff voice, his face contorting into a forbidding scowl. "Do you know what that implies, don't you?"

Remus didn't flinch under the gaze of his friend-in-arms. His newfound determination prevented him from looking away, surrendering to Moody's powerful aura. "Yes. Albus has gone too far. We must do this for Harry's sake before something goes wrong."

"What about you, Nymphadora?" Moody turned towards the young Auror, searching for her answer. The metamorphmagus, used to his antics, didn't wilt either, keeping her smile on her face, but her eyes betrayed his hidden seriousness. People like her loved keeping around them an atmosphere of cheerfulness, positive attitude in all circumstances, and Remus couldn't but admire her for that. She could discuss about nearly every topic in this world without loosing her happy composure. "Well, I must agree with Remus, here. Keeping Harry cooped up at his own house will do him no good. I think," she smiled. "that he needs a little change of scenery for a while."

"Aye. 'Tis true that Dumbledore overstepped his limits this time, even though I can see that he did all that for the boy's own good." The two behind him frowned. "But once again, do you realize what you're about to do?"

"Yes," answered Lupin, looking away. "We're practically staging a rebellion amongst the Order's ranks."

"Once you make the step, there's no coming back. Albus has proven himself to be quite unpredictable in times of war, you know. I've known him longer than you. He hides himself behind a wall of wisdom but very few people know what's going on inside that head of his." He once again took a sip from his flask, savoring the matured taste of the liquor. "You will probably lose his trust after that, even though he'll cover it up by _officially _forgiving you. He'll most probably assign you minor tasks after that, like acting as couriers or just messengers. Especially nothing have something to do with the boy."

"I don't care what he's going to do, Alastor!" retorted the werewolf, startling Tonks with his vehement tone. "My commitment is to Harry's happiness! I failed in my duty to keep care of him for nearly fourteen years and it's actually time for me to get the job done, once and for all!" He ran a hand through his brown-gray hair, looking through the window at the trees surrounding the house, losing himself in the calming scenery. "Dumbledore's not making things easier for him. Instead of training Harry, he's letting him rot in that hell-hole without as much as a word or a message telling him not to do anything...rash! He's even forbidden people to visit him for his own so-called sake!"

"Remus has a point" cut in Tonks, in a semi-serious tone. "He's not helping him. Harry, it is true, must prepare for war. If Dumbledore does nothing to ensure that Harry's got his weapons right and clean for the incoming battle, then why not do it ourselves?"

Moody grunted, seeing the logic behind, but not quite confident in that course of action. "Aye. Sounds logical. And on the practical side, girl?"

"Well, he's got both of us!" she answered with a cheering tone, gesturing to herself and Moody. "Both Aurors or ex-Auror and new Auror and..." she turned towards Remus, who acquiesced silently. "Remus here was one of Harry's favorite teachers in Hogwarts, so...why not?"

Moody remained silent. Trudging towards his sofa and with his wooden leg clunking away, he analyzed the proposition given to him. "An apprentice, eh?" His face scrunched into a grimace, that the two other individuals in the room recognized as his equivalent of a smile. "Sounds appealing to me" he grumbled in a positive tone. "But it's been a long time since I taught an apprentice to the art of combat. The last time I did, the boy got killed because he got careless. Quite a disappointment for someone who had great promises in him."

"And what do you think about Harry?" asked Tonks, moving to her right before tripping on her own feet and falling face-first on the wooden floor. Moody's eyes rolled upwards in exasperation. _How the hell did she managed to become an Auror? That's beyond my realm of understanding!_ "He's got the tools in him to become the greatest dueler in our time, but the problem is to bring it out of him. Especially since he lost one year because of that incompetent ass-licking Ministry lackey" he snarled, recalling the toad-like face of Dolores Umbridge, Hogwarts' former High Inquisitor and Self-Appointed Headmaster. "And what about your plan for tomorrow?"

"First, Alastor, we need to know if you're with us on this" said Remus, not bothering to explain further. "I need guarantees first then I'll use the assets in my own hand."

"Good. Check your weapons first and fight after. Excellent, they thought you well in school" he smiled in his own grim fashion, his scarred face once again collapsing into a horrifying grin. "As for your question...as long as it is for the...greater good...as Albus puts it...I'm in it. Albus and I have had some disagreements these past days. So...why not? After all, I'm the one on duty tomorrow, isn't it? Aye. That's why you sought me out and nearly risked your head getting blow off for approaching my house without warning me first. Quite brave of you. I appreciate that."

The two behind him broke into a smile.

Things were definitely going into motion, for the best.

* * *

"Mum, when is Harry going to get here?" asked a sleepy Ginevra Weasley as she walked down the staircase and into the kitchen. The redheaded matron looked from her washbasin and back at her daughter. Her frown deepened as she thought about Harry's living conditions. "As soon as possible, I hope! Those horrible relatives of his must have been starving him all summer long! He needs proper food and space" she huffed indignantly.

Ginny sat at the table, rubbing her eyes to wake herself up. She had taken the habit of taking a nap after midday and her body still strained somewhat to conform itself to the new changes. "I hope so, Ron's been a prat lately!" Molly Weasley's eyebrows furrowed at her daughter's language. "Always talking about Quidditch, Quidditch and Quidditch. Nothing more, nothing less. He's even considering tricking Fred and George into buying him a new broom for the incoming school year." The Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop was working full-time in Diagon Alley and the twins were currently gained a lot of revenues, a proof of their business' success in a world dipping into darkness. Even Zonko's was thinking about allying themselves to the new concurrent to avoid bankruptcy. Of course, the new income of money was a welcome manna for the large Weasley family but for some individuals, instead of looking like a glass of water inside the Sahara, it took the appearance of an addicting drug.

"What?" she whipped around, looking at her startled child. "Does he know how much that costs? And don't tell me he's bullying the twins into buying one for him!"

Ginny shook her head. "No, Fred and George were smarter than that. They told him that they would actually consider acquiring brooms for me and him if we agreed working part-time at their shops, so that we would actually and partially earn the money to buy the brooms. They said that they would pay the rest as a gift."

Molly Weasley's scowl lessened when she heard about the twins' decision. In that way it seemed more reasonable, as she was quite reluctant to see her children throwing money out of the windows as if it were just water. Her progeny had not endured years of poverty and the reluctance to disburse money for much-needed but expensive items. They still had to learn the rough life of a pauper and learn from it. Ron's behavior did not make her happy. As soon as he had seen Fred and George's dragon-hide boots, he had been considering buying tons of miscellaneous objects, much to the rest of the family's displeasure. Hearing him rant about newfound fortune at dinnertime for entire weeks did get on one's nerves. Especially the twins who now eyed their sibling with caution. As much as they loved him they still remained quite careful as to not anger their much-feared mother and not let Ron become a new Percy but with greediness as a plus. "It...sounds fair. But I really must deflate Ron's ambitions. He's gotten quite obnoxious these past weeks."

"I think we both agreed on that, Mum" quipped Ginny, leaning back on her chair. "He's literally abandoned his project to become an Auror in favor of Quidditch."

Ginny's little bombshell nearly made her mother drop the plate she was currently holding and drying off with a Cleaning Charm. "WHAT?" The youngest Weasley child cringed as a sound shockwave brutally threatened to destroy her eardrums. Moving a little away from a dumbfounded Molly, Ginny tried to explain things further without incensing her parent. "Well...he thinks that he's not exactly Auror material and that his Ordinary Wizarding Level scores won't be as high as he'd wish...so he would try something more...in accordance to his abilities."

"What in the name of Merlin is that boy thinking!" steamed the family matron. "Dropping off his ambition like that? How is he going to find a job then? A Quidditch player?"

Ginny shook her head. She knew her mother would react like this and had braced herself for the impact but visibly, Molly Weasley's disappointment was nothing compared to her anger. "Does he really think that's he is going to find a job like that, with a snap of his fingers? Good lord, he's only sixteen! One doesn't get engaged like that as soon as you post your name in the Daily Prophet's job propositions, for Godric's sakes!"

"I know, but it's definitely set in those brains of his. Ever since he got in Hogwarts' Quidditch Team, he's been dead set on becoming a professional Quidditch player. He wanted to live his life to his strengths and do want he loved most."

"Oooh...he's going to get an earful from me, I promise you that!" grumbled Mrs. Weasley crossing her arms in indignation. "How dare he let his chance to have a respectable work fall away like that! Oooh...I'm going to teach him a lesson, that's for sure!"

"Mum, Mum, please..." pleaded Ginny, holding a hand up. "If you're going to give him your opinion, don't tell him I told you, please?"

Molly Weasley nodded, her mood now only describable as 'grumpy'. "Yes, but he'll hear me...and when I'll tell his father...Merlin's beard...Arthur really wanted to see him work at the Ministry too. With Fred and George now running a joke shop, he's going to be so disappointed..."

"I know, that's going to be upset, but he'll agree anyway - it's not like he was against Fred and George's idea, after all..." That last part brought a scowl on Molly's features. Everyone knew she didn't agree with the twins goal in life. She believed instead that the two of them could have done much better on the OWL exams had they not chosen to concentrate on their pranks and other joke items instead of studying and tuning their knowledge, like Hermione did. "And I don't think that Dad is actually very bent on seeing us joining the Ministry any time soon, with those at the head of the country."

"Okay, okay...dear, but still, what's gotten in the boy's head? He wasn't like that two months ago!"

"You got a point, Mum. But Ron's been acting illogically very lately. Do you think the scars are there for something?"

Molly Weasley's hands stopped washing the dishes, freezing in place. The topic was still very sensible and put a great strain on the family. Ron had been suffering from nightmares for two months and he kept, nearly every night, waking up with a high-pitched scream. She even had to walk in his room to calm him up and feed him with a Dreamless Sleep Draught to still his fears. Now, if the welts he sported on his arms proved to be messing up with his mind... "Do...do you really think that?"

"I...I don't know, Mum" answered the little redhead with a sad smile. "It's as if he has completely changed. There are times where I don't recognize him. Sure, he's still the annoying git of a brother I always had, but with all the things he's been saying and asking lately, I don't know how to respond. It's as if the rules of the game had changed in the meantime. He's actually told me that it would be nice to have everything Harry has." At that, Molly's eyes narrowed. _Oh, jealousy, then? What's gotten into him? It's like his fourth year, when she shunned Harry away. This is not good._

"I...I'll talk with your Dad about it tonight, but don't speak about it anymore. Nobody must know, are we clear on it?"

Ginny nodded in acquiescence. Things had to change. For the better.

Little did she know that everything would come crumbling down for the new school years.

And she was right on one point. The rules had changed.

_

* * *

_

_Dear Harry,_

_I got your letter earlier this day and I must admit, you thoroughly shocked me. You, of all people, studying? The end of times must have come!_

_Seriously, Harry, I'm delighted you finally decided to concentrate on your lessons - without wanting to berate you, I think you should have done it years ago. No, listen to me, I'm not trying to turn you into a 'bookworm' like me or lecture you about the benefits of reading and learning. I think you heard that speech from me enough to recite it in your sleep. But I'm glad anyway. Do you think we could use it for the DA lessons? It should be useful to share our knowledge with the DA members so that they can defend themselves in a better way. We were only six in the DoM against a dozen Death Eaters and we managed to fend them off and even get some prisoners. We could do much better with a little more training, don't you think so?_

_And...I'm sorry, Harry. I must have reminded you of Sirius. His death was not only your loss but ours too, Harry. He was not only close to you but to us, too. For me, he was like a elder cousin of sorts. Someone I could rely on, even though he couldn't be at our side every hour of everyday, in body but not in mind. You must let the pain go away, Harry, otherwise it will eat you from the inside. Let it all out. I'm not a specialist in psychology (yes, I just admitted not knowing anything about that science!) but you should talk to someone about your ordeal. I know that the Dursleys, as you said, aren't chat material, but try to find someone to talk to. Remus, maybe?_

_As for the Inheritance Ceremony, well, I didn't find any reference to the word 'Elderblood'. I hope it hasn't anything to do with the terms 'mudblood' and 'pureblood' - as far as I know, as it is stated in 'Goblins and Orcs: Species of Gold and War' by Junius 'Axe-wielder' Tristleweed_,_ Goblins do not really believe in blood purity and the so-called authority and respect that notion entails, except, of course, for the respect it asks from their part towards their clients. But then, it would only be something related to wealth and not ancestry. That's what I first thought, then I saw that my reasoning didn't make sense. 'Elderblood' is obviously related to bloodlines. So, I think you'll have to find out by yourself. I'm sorry I couldn't find anything of relevance to the topic._

_What are you going to do about Professor Dumbledore and the Order, Harry? It's not as if you could oppose them, you know? I know you're quite angered at them, but if Pr. Dumbledore says it's for your safety then you should comply. I only want you to be safe, Harry. Please understand me. I don't, however, condone your being let in the dark in your room._

_And what did you mean by 'working out physically'? Are we having a brand new Schwarzenegger attending Hogwarts, now?_

_Please stay safe._

_Love from,_

_Hermione._

"Schwarzenegger? _Me?_ I shouldn't have told her that!" he moaned. "She's not one to tease me, but it looks like she took it as funny. Ooh no..."

Petting Hedwig one last time and feeding her with a couple of owl treats, he went back to his desk and inspected his room. All his belongings were now inside his old, battered trunk, ready to be carried away. Tomorrow he would leave this place for a place where he could live in peace until school term began. He had previously thought about calling the Weasleys but he didn't think that it was a good idea. Dumbledore would immediately look for him at the Burrow and would bring him back at four, Privet Drive and confine him to that miniature hell. Remus was probably too busy coping with his grief to be bothered and...well, he couldn't bring the Grangers in his own business. He didn't know them much and his staying at their place would only make them a bigger target for Voldemort's troops. He refused to put them in harm's way. Hermione's family didn't deserve that all.

"Like I'm going to lose somebody else. Sirius was one death too much for me" he mumbled with sadness piercing through his words. His face, however, remained unreadable. Keep up the appearances and steel yourself inside.

Dropping on his bed, he relished for a last time the softness of the mattress, knowing that he wouldn't probably ever return here. His path was already set and he would be the only making his own choices. He wouldn't let anyone, especially Dumbledore, make his own decisions. If he had to grow up he would mature his own way, according to his own experiences with life. Nobody would shield him from the dangers of reality. He would see everything for himself without relying on anyone else's testimony. He would see everything firsthand and take steps to make everything better. So he swore to himself. Once again, his body shone with magic as his second oath was sealed by fate.

"I must get out of here."

* * *

**An author's notes: _of paces kept and events unfolding_**

Many people might be trying to strangle me right now. It's dark, it's depressive, it's slow. It shows Harry in a more adult way. Humor is scarce, if not nonexistent...what's not to complain about? Well, my opinion about the turn of events after the Department of Mysteries is that one big blow would have been given to Harry's mind. He lost his newfound godfather and his nemesis is stronger than ever. His life has radically changed and the game's settings are no longer the same. I do see him falling into depression, but he wouldn't share his pain with the others. Like in fifth year, he would deal with his problems alone. As seen in book five when he tried to dissuade his friends from following him to the Ministry of Magic, he retains a strong sense of independence as well as a determined wish to not hurt others by pulling them down in his own business. He would probably mope around, but he would pull himself together when he'll realize that he cannot mourn Sirius' death forever. That's when he would try to set things right. He would train but I do not see his training going easily, nor do I envision his metamorphosis as sleek, easy and short. It would be long, hard and full of difficulties from which he will have to learn the roughness of life. He will tread the path of adulthood much sooner than he ever had thought.

Now, about my pace. Yeah, it's slow. Blame me. That's because I attach a high degree of detail to my writing and I do not see events occurring real fast, even catastrophes and dramas often only take a single second to unfold. After all, the bullet that hit John Fitzgerald Kennedy didn't take six hours to kill the president, right? Some things are fast, others aren't. Many will compare my work to a snail's pace, but I'll try to improve myself. I think it'll get faster after the dark part of the fic - Harry coping with Sirius' death - will be over. As soon as he begins his true training, things will go much faster.

Am I too serious about it? Well, I don't see a war waged against a monster like Voldemort to be sunny and full of happiness. It would be laden by angst, drama, doom and gloom. But I'll try to liven things up for my own sake. Rating will however change in the later chapters, maybe up to 'Restricted', since the 'NC-17' level isn't offered by FFN.

Got a message for me? Be my guest, I'll be watching my mailbox but don't swamp me with messages!

On a happier note, I'll probably be concentrating more on HP than Evangelion since that area is practically dead right now. The series ended in 1994 or something like that and well, fandom is going to the crapper as fast as a nuclear reactor melting down. So HP will be on top of my priority list. Lucky you.

Now, on a more personal basis, I'd like to 'file' a complaint about two reviews I received. Well, about one only - the other will be the object of a statement. I had one guy literally yelling a me about how H x Hr was something completely stupid and therefore that I was reading nothing but crap. I'd like to tell that guy that my preferences are MY OWN and not HIS. He cannot decide for myself what I'm going to read or what I'm going to write. If he doesn't like my series, then he can look elsewhere for what he deems satisfactory (i.e.: H x G fics). There are character search slots above that can help him narrow his own list of HP fics and leave him only with the H x G and prevent him from stumbling on H x Hr fics. What pisses me off is the fact that he got mad at me without any reason at all. I call his behavior bigotry and fanaticism. An asshole's attitude, as I stated earlier. I don't call his message a review, either, just a worthless rant. Did I berate on his choices? NO. Therefore did I deserve his ranting? NO. So get lost. On another hand, one guy told me as it was H x Hr he wouldn't keep on reading HP-ASIT anymore. While I must commend him on his pacific tone (which I can't say about another fucking individual), I can't keep from rolling my eyes upwards and saying 'okay, do as you want, I won't and can't stop you' in regret. While I respect your choices, I must ask you to not get biased. Just because my series is H x Hr and there are a lot of H x G fans out here doesn't mean that I'm writing crap. Ignore me if you want but please, please, if you want to post a review, just give me your opinion about my writing. Not your preferences, okay? As I said in the prologue's author's notes, I only want CONSTRUCTIVE reviews, damn it! Not rants! But who am I to stop you from asserting your right to proclaim your freedom of expression? Say it aloud, okay, but don't turn my review pages into a propaganda or masses-conversion page. Just thought I had to make that clear.

Now, I've got nothing against H x G, H x Luna or even H x OC, as long as you're not like the first individual I described above, but please, please do me a favor. Stop those aggressive flames. It's not worth my time. I could do much more better in the meantime.

_Until next time,_

**abi2301**


	3. Chapter 03: Flying away on wings of free...

**Harry Potter: A Soul In Tension**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 03**

**v.01: 01/03/2005**

**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Soul In Tension' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

* * *

**Chapter 03: Flying away on wings of freedom**

The chamber he walked in was damp and filled with darkness. Yet, he could see through the shadows the tremendous size of the room and gape at its dimensions. It looked like a great hall, complete with tall, stout pillars, a curved and chiseled ceiling and statues on either side of its length, like silent sentinels guarding a path. A gush of cold air whipped him in the face, bringing along a vile stench that reminded him of decay and organic dirt as the foul smell nearly burned his lungs. His eyes watered for a moment, as airborne dust coalesced on the edges of his eyelids. Waving his arm around to chase the odorous haze away, he tried to get his bearings. He lifted his wand and muttered '_lumos_', causing the tip to be lit aglow and to pierce the darkness with a ray of pure light. The luminous beam ran on blank walls of granite, revealing nothing. Harry turned towards the statues and saw faceless beings, their features erased by the evils of Fate and crumbling down under the weight of Time. Small chips of rock littered the ground and cracks ran through the damaged pavement. Even some paving stones were loose, as if something extremely heavy had broken them.

He stopped looking around and turned towards the end of the room, trying to find a door or a passageway towards fresh air and freedom. But he saw nothing. His feet were like glued to the ground, refusing to move, desperately fixed to the cold stone beneath his body. He was trapped in this hellhole that reminded him too much of the Chamber of Secrets, yet he knew that this wasn't the same room, as there was no Salazar Slytherin statue in front of him to confirm that fear. He was elsewhere, in a place he didn't know or couldn't recognize, one that held him prisoner and from which he imperatively had to escape, as soon as possible before the darkness engulfed him. The light, here, was the only thing that kept him sane. He wasn't claustrophobic but his new confinement made him extremely uneasy. He had to run away, anywhere. Anywhere but here.

A little hiss, weak enough to pass unnoticed, made him jump in alarm and whip his head around.

_Hssssss..._

There was nothing here. Nothing.

Was it his imagination?

_Great! Now, I'm going crazy! I really need to get away...I need to...where's the exit? WHERE'S THE EXIT?_

Small droplets of water fell from the fungus-covered ceiling, making small noises around him that made fear creep into his innards. _Wands out, do you reckon?_ came the voice of Cedric Diggory. That memory had plagued him ever since and came back to haunt him every time he had gone to bed in a bad mood or with a troubled mind. Now, once again, he was alone to fight his greatest fears, without friends to help him. Then...again, he heard the hiss...

_A snake?_

But then, why couldn't he understand it? He was a Parselmouth; his brain would have translated it without him even noticing, yet he could hear still the hiss as if it were a foreign language. The sound came back, slightly louder, as if its source were in motion, slowly encroaching towards the frozen Harry Potter. Beads of cold sweat started to form on the teenager's forehead, despite the room's chilling atmosphere, both physical and psychological.

_Hssssss..._

He turned back towards the end of the chamber, trying to understand what he was hearing, before his gaze fell on something that made his heart stop. Right in front of him, twenty meters away, in the middle of the darkness, suspended in midair, were two red, gleaming eyes staring straight at him, like those of a predator eyeing its prey. Harry's heart stopped beating for a moment, as his whole being screamed at himself to get the hell away from here. But his limbs seemed to be made of lead, refusing to move of their own accord. He was like a statue made of inflexible granite. Hard and cold. The sound of a rattling breath made itself known to his ears, adding to his growing fear. _Dementors?_

_Hssssss..._

The two crimson orbs continued to move towards him but the creature's body was still hidden, covered in shadows. That _thing_ wasn't human and Harry knew it, by some strange foresight bestowed on him as if Fate had decided to mock him on his last day on Earth. It wasn't a Basilisk either as he was still alive instead of being killed by the gigantic snake's lethal stare. The only thing he knew was that whatever was approaching him wasn't human, not at all. _Do something! Do something, anything but get the hell out of here! _His throat was dry, his mouth open in a silent scream. He couldn't get away and danger was coming, promising death and destruction. He couldn't get away... Then, tearing the silence, the deep, rumbling voice came, full of malice and coldness.

_"Haaaarrrry Poooottttteeeeer..."_

That was when he bolted up in his bed, screaming in terror. He looked wildly around, surprised at the change of scenery, expecting a great beast to lunge at him and sink its teeth into his flesh. With a sigh, he realized that it was, once again, one of his usual nightmares. Why couldn't they leave him in peace, even for a while? He only begged for a chance to sleep without having either remnants of the past or Voldemort troubling him and depriving him from his well-deserved and hard-earned rest. He couldn't go on like that. Even the Dreamless Sleep Potion wouldn't suffice to appease his unrest. If he were to drink a glass of it every evening until the Dark Lord's ultimate demise, he would develop an addiction to the chemicals and God knew he couldn't afford that. There were examples of specific occurrences in wizarding history, such as the case of Adrahild 'All-knowing' Doyle, a seventeenth-century witch who took the habit of taking a Wit-sharpening Draught each morning to prove her friends her intellectual superiority until she forgot one day to ingurgitate the potion and consequently died of a meningitis attack two days after. Magical food and drinks often had strange side effects when incorrectly or carelessly used.

"BOY! WILL YOU STOP YOUR CURSED SCREAMING! THE NEIGHBORS MUST BE AWAKE BY NOW WITH YOUR BLOODY SHRIEKING! GET BACK TO SLEEP AND SHUT UP BEFORE I MAKE YOU DO!" Vernon bellowed from the other side of the house. A few grunts followed the order, the unmistakable sound of a disgruntled, less-than-happy uncle repositioning himself on his bed to allow sleep to take him. A few 'stop moving, Vernon, and get back to sleep! It's two in the morning!' from his Aunt Petunia followed by a grumbling 'yes, dear' came to reinforce that assumption.

Harry turned towards his nightstand and lit his lamp, trying to shake off the remnants of his terror, getting himself reacquainted with reality. _Well, for once, it isn't Voldemort_, he told himself, shuddering. His night shirt was damp with sweat, his arms were all clammy, his skin covered with Goosebumps and his forehead was burning. His window was open to allow fresh air to enter - a nice change from the daytime's searing heat - but he found no solace in the gush of cool wind invading his room. "I hope's Hedwig's having a good time, hunting without anything to hamper her flight..." he muttered, remembering that he had allowed his owl to stretch her wings on a nightly basis and let her wander around, in search for a mice or other little critters that would appease her hunger. A predator remained a predator, no matter how tamed it had become. Instincts never died. They just laid low, in hiding, until the time to strike came forth.

"Good way to begin my last day at the Dursleys," Harry grumbled, wiping his face with a handkerchief. With a groan he set his back on the mattress and tried to get back to sleep.

_Tomorrow - today - will be a long day._

How true he was.

* * *

"I will say for the last time, boy! I will NOT TOLERATE that behavior of yours anymore! Screaming like a stuck pig in the middle of night and waking up the entire neighborhood - that - that nerve of yours! How dare you disturb our sleep with your blasted squeals!" raved on and on the flushed figure of one Vernon Dursley, defiantly trying to intimidate one Harry Potter with his stature and his infamous bellows about normalcy and decency. Suffice it to say, he didn't have much success with his nephew, who was used to his uncle's antics and stood his ground with a bored expression. His cold demeanor had at first startled his relatives, who had, loudly (of course), thrown a fit for his giving them the cold shoulder. Once again, their complaints had fallen on deaf ears. Harry wouldn't listen and endeavored to stay as far as possible from them, a decision the Dursleys couldn't be more happy with. Even Dudley looked ecstatic at Harry's new line of action as he tried to avoid his cumbersome cousin. The whale-like teenager still had, fresh in his memory, the effects of the Dementors that had attacked him and Harry last year, on Umbridge's bidding. Harry looked out of the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the Order's member currently on guard. He still needed to get past that wizard or witch and still didn't have a plan.

"ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?" came the angry question from Vernon Dursley.

"Watch out, Uncle, you're going to die from blood loss if one of your veins pops out," calmly pointed out Harry, not even flinching away from his relative's tone. Vernon Dursley gaped like a fish, struck by the realization that his nephew had just dared talk back to him in a condescending tone. "You...you..."

"Me - Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you," continued Harry with a small tinge of sarcasm in his voice. "Now, if you could shut up just for a minute, I'd like to say one word or two. Something, I know, you would like to hear - in fact, something you had wanted to hear for what? sixteen years now..." The beefy man looked like he was going to die of a heart attack and was desperately tugging at his tie, trying to loosen his shirt's collar; he looked close to suffocation from the verbal onslaught. _I hope he isn't epileptic - ooh, the fun it'd provide me with! _In the kitchen, Petunia and Dudley Dursley sat frozen, not believing their eyes. Their gaze kept on shifting from Harry to Vernon, as if mesmerized by a never-seen spectacle. "Yes."

"I...you...I..." stammered Vernon, trying to get his mind back on tracks but failing miserably. His collar finally burst open, and a couple of buttons became airborne. How dared that boy talk back to him like that and ridicule him in front of his own family? The outrage! It called for blood!

"Hey, what did I just say, Uncle? Shut up or you will have a field day trying to guess what were the good news I wanted to give you. Shut up and let me speak or keep on talking and I walk without telling you - choose - your loss."

Dudley's eyes were now threatening to fall from their sockets and Aunt Petunia looked as if she was mimicking a poltergeist with her ghostlike complexion and her shocked grimace. "Ah, choosing silence? Good, good...you're learning. There's still hope for you yet," Harry chuckled in a dark fashion, nearly freaking his uncle out of his own bones despite his rage at being told off by a sixteen-year old FREAK. His nephew, known to his wife and son as the bane of their existence, had never EVER talked to them like that. Much less in such a creepy way. "Now, what I was wanting to say? Ah, yes...today, if you're lucky, I might forsake this house for the rest of your lives, never to return and plague...your ah, _search for respectability_ and whatnot. You know, what you're always ranting about - you should know what. Anyway, it depends. If all goes well, you will be able to make a fiesta tonight in celebration of my definitive departure. Maybe Dudley will be able to dance the mambo for you, bare-chested and wearing a tutu - who knows? But...if a hitch comes in my plan to evacuate that place, well, too bad, you'll still have to suffer me for another year. Surely, you wouldn't want that, would you?"

At that point, Vernon Dursley's face could be considered as either comical or frightening. Most people would have dubbed him a madman upon first sight, by the way he was grimacing. It was as if two emotions were battling for the domination of his features: glee and fury. The two didn't mix well, as an eventual onlooker could see. His smile was awfully distorted and shaking with the eventual tremble of his lips, an effect reinforced by as the spasmodic twitching of his eyebrows. His fat head had taken on an unhealthy purple color and sometimes faded to yellow before coming back to bright red and so forth. Today was not a good day for the Grunnings employee. Harry waved a hand in front of his uncle, trying to startle him from his state of semi-madness. The small trickle of drool that run from the fat man's mouth to his chin wasn't a good sign. And a crazy guy that weighted some 330lbs and could pack a great deal of punch was not a good thing, even for a seasoned, battle-wizened wizard like Harry Potter. "Hel-loooo? Somebody there? Care to comment, Uncle Vernon? Don't tell me you are going to regret my going away, aren't you?"

Horror was the next expression Vernon Dursley bore and Harry was definitely amazed by how a human face could be so scrunched up and how facial muscles could bend so much. "You..."

"Yes."

"You...you are...going away?" came the incredulous question. Harry noticed that his relative's moustache was frizzling, sign of a great excitement running through the fat man's mind.

"Yep. Surprising, huh? Guess you should be happy for that," he replied in a sing-song tone. The two other inhabitants of the house remained glued to their chairs, eyebrows threatening to go into low Earth orbit. Dudley particularly looked like a goldfish except he didn't sport gills and fins, Harry noted with amusement. Oh, how he had waited for _that _moment, the apex of his young existence.

"Fo...forever? Honestly?"

"Good guess, buster!" replied Harry, his face breaking into his largest smile ever.

Vibrant jubilation finally won the battle for the conquest of the great oaf's face. Vernon Dursley's wildest hopes had become reality. The man's grimace - or should we say 'grin' - showed his grim ecstasy at the news of his much-hated nephew's departure. Still red like a tomato, Vernon Dursley wasn't sure whether to be mad at his relative's impoliteness or yell in glee at what he'd just heard. He just chose to babble on and on, his gruff voice making his incoherent mutters disagreeable to hear. Shaking his head, Harry left his uncle in the hall and went back to the table, ignoring his aunt and his cousin, who were still too shell-shocked to do anything or find a witty comment to throw at him. _I don't think they realize what's happening, but then having them shut the hell up is a good change from their usual banter. I should be grateful for that. _He walked up to the stove, picked up the frying pan and dumped its contents onto his own plate, adding some French bread and fried eggs to the sizzling bacon. He dropped in his chair and started eating, still paying no attention to his two relatives who finally snapped out of their trance and dumbly went back to eating, tearing themselves off their daze. At the doorframe, Vernon Dursley grumbled in satisfaction before finally entering the kitchen, a mad look still etched onto his figure. "So...your lot is going to fetch you today, isn't it?" he asked, a small trace of fear in his eyes. Harry looked up from his breakfast and shook his head. "If you're talking about the Weasleys - those with the red hair - then your answer is no. I'm going on my own."

Aunt Petunia then found within herself the will to ask a question, her horse-like face scrunching up in a disbelieving scowl, her voice laced with ill-meant suspicion. "And where are you going to go, boy? You have no money and as you said, you're on your own! How are you going to find a place to live with no resources at all?"

Harry's eyebrow quirked in disdain. "Why would you want to know? As far as I know, all you want me to do is disappear to God-knows-where and leave you alone. So why bother asking?"

"If those freaks..." began Vernon Dursley, paling a bit in remembrance of 'Mad-Eye' Moody's threats. He didn't want to have a chat with those unnatural beings that shouldn't absolutely not be allowed to exist and even looked less forward to explaining them how his charge left his house today, never to return. "Don't bother about them - just tell them I went out on my own - that should suffice. And...Uncle Vernon?"

"Yes?"

"Just tell them, with your IMPRESSIVE fashion," he smirked, sarcasm swirling around his words. "to go to Hell for all you care."

"Language!" hissed Aunt Petunia, fearing that her neighbors, which, in reality, were at least two dozen meters away behind thick walls, might hear her nephew and spread the rumor that uncouth words were used under the Dursleys' roof. Gossip was a two-edged sword as well as extremely sharp, for that matter. "DO NOT SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT, BOY! IT IS NOT BECAUSE YOU ARE LEAVING TODAY THAT I WILL ACCEPT ANY OTHER SIGNS OF YOUR...YOUR ABNORMALITY IN MY HOUSE!" roared the fat man, rising from his seat, swelling in anger. "I WON'T HEAR ANY OTHER WORDS LIKE THIS FROM YOU OR I WILL GIVE YOU A 'FAREWELL PRESENT' FOR YOU TO REMEMBER US ALL YOUR LIFE!"

"Really? How considerate of you, dear Uncle..." replied Harry in a gentle tone, as if speaking to a toddler. He fingered his wand in front of his relatives, the message evident to the onlookers. Dudley let out a small scream and fell from his chair, causing some plates and cutlery to rattle from the spreading shockwave. "Really, Dudley, you must go back to your diet, do you know that ? Even China must have felt the earthquake..."

"DO NOT INSULT MY SON IN FRONT OF ME, YOU...YOU BLOODY FREAK!" bellowed Vernon, pointing a fat finger at the bespectacled teenager and shaking with rage. Harry, however, to his credit, didn't back down, opting instead for staring back at his uncle with a cold stare. "I do as I want, as I am now my own master, Uncle Vernon. Unless, of course, you're having issues with my leaving this house?" Once again, he twirled his wand between his fingers, noticing the flinches he received from his relatives. Dudley, from his place on the ground, even whimpered in fear. He didn't want to have a new pig's tail or a tongue as big as a sofa.

"N...no, of course - you must be - I - you..." stammered the flushed man, making a decent imitation of a rainbow, as his face kept changing colors. He was shaking in fury and confusion, trying to feel both indignant, happy, furious, hopeful and outraged at the same time. But sometimes, black and white didn't mix to make gray. It often gave stranger, unharmonious results. "Careful, Uncle, you're going to have a heart attack if you keep on squeaking like that!"

"I AM NOT SQUEAKING!"

"Sorry, shrieking!" shot back Harry.

"I AM NOT SHRIEKING!"

"Bellowing, then?"

"I AM NOT BELLOWING!" Vernon bellowed.

"Okay, roaring; is that your last word?" suggested Harry with an innocent tone, smiling slightly.

Vernon roared in frustration and swiped at the table's content with a thick arm, making plates and silverware fall from the piece of furniture. Bacon, eggs, fruits and orange juice fell on the floor in an unceremonious shower. Aunt Petunia's screams and Dudley's frightened pig-like squeals added more chaos to the mess that had become the Dursleys' household, the sound of breaking china and glass creating a disgraceful pandemonium. From the corner of his eye, through the window, Harry saw the neighbors gazing with interest and a scandalized look at his Uncle's behavior. The teenager, however, spoke nothing of this, as he wanted to give them a 'farewell present' too. A poisonous one, that is, especially for Aunt Petunia. _She'll have a nasty surprise the next few days...hee hee..._

"This is going to be a long day..." he sighed.

Once again, he didn't know how right he was.

* * *

Harry's chuckles were still going on as the raven-haired teenager reached his room. His confrontation with Vernon Dursley would remain forever engraved in his memory and he would definitely remember that glorious, exhilarating instant till the end of his life. Sixteen years waiting for that moment, those minutes of liberation where family laws were abrogated and where pent-up feelings were finally released. An explosive catharsis. He felt as if a great weight had been taken off his shoulders and his heart suddenly defied gravity. The definite spring in his gait was a sure sign of his newly acquired good mood. The day couldn't begin any better, if one bothered to overlook that nightmare. Things were indeed getting interesting, but the easiest part, in his opinion, was just done. Now was the time for the hard part: escaping from four, Privet Drive. He didn't have a Hippogriff in handy to take him away from that hellhole; using a broom in broad daylight was as subtle as swinging a baseball bat at one's face. In less than ten minutes, Aurors from the Ministry would swoop down on him for misuse of a magical artifact in plain sight of the Muggles and fine him. And if Fudge proved himself to still be the Ministry of Magic, then wouldn't miss a chance to crush him to the ground. Or worse, ban him from the wizarding world and snap his wand into pieces. Those were options that were out of question. _Hermione would never let me hear the end of it. Expulsion is worse than death, as she thinks. 'We could have died, or worse, be expelled!'_

"It's a pity that Buckbeak isn't here..." he moaned. "It would have made things easier and faster done with..."

His invisibility cloak? Yes, that was a good idea...he would use the cloak to render himself invisible and sneak out of the house. He would then call for the Knight Bus and go where Destiny wanted him to be. His freedom was at hand... _This time, I will be in control_, he had vowed to himself. _No one will ever make my decision in my stead. I will do them on my own terms._ But then...

"Boy! We are going out now with Dudley and your Aunt for the boxing competition! You better not do some funny things while we're out or it your skin will be on our dinner plates tonight, is that clear? If I find a single thing missing or broken, I'll call the police and tell them to throw in jail and let you rot there! Mark my words! And since I'm at it, you better be gone by the time we come back! And don't you dare return!" came his Uncle's gruff voice. Harry didn't bother answering, as he didn't want anything more to do with his so-called relatives. Partings simmering in hate didn't need any words. Just shows of contempt and coldness. Three seconds later, he heard the front door closing and the sound of a key rotating in the lock.

The Dursleys were definitely gone. Surprisingly, he felt no regret not seeing them for a last time. He knew he wouldn't probably see them anymore but cutting his ties with his aunt, uncle and cousin was something he had wanted to do for a very long time. Bidding farewell to the Dursleys was considered trivial compared to his taking in control his own existence and bracing himself for adulthood. Paths were open before him; he just had to take the good one and everything would be okay. He would live to a ripe old age, as Professor Trelawney 'predicted' (to spite Umbridge and render her furious), and have kids. _Kids...as if I had the time to have some, _he smirked. _But I must train first, and think about life after. There's a time for everything. I just need to sort it out. _He looked at his bed and gazed at the letters he had left there, the largest one being addressed to Albus Dumbledore. The old man would have a nasty shock when he will read the message's contents. A sneer appeared on Harry's lips, as he thought of the chaos his 'disappearance' would cause. _Payback is a bitch,_ _Dumb-as-a-door. And control is everything for everybody. Something extremely easy to gain but devilishly hard to keep._

His trunk was ready and his invisibility cloak was out. It was a pity that Umbridge had confiscated his Firebolt, his only souvenir of Sirius, the only gift he had ever received from his godfather. His lock-picking Swiss knife had been destroyed in the Department of Mysteries in an attempt to open the mysterious locked door and had been discarded in the chaos that ensued later. That left him with the Knight Bus but Stan and Ernie, the driver and conductor, were not exactly individuals that could keep something quiet or plain secret. Dumbledore would easily extract the information from them in a matter of milliseconds without resorting to using Legilimency. _I guess I'll have to do with it..._he thought with regret.

Then...

_Crrrr..._

Harry whipped towards his door as his ears picked the small creak of the floor's lattice - a sound that wasn't caused without having someone walk on the waxed floor and apply pressure on the wooden planks. And since the Dursleys were gone... _Death Eaters? But how could they have entered the house without suffering from the wards' protection? Did they find a way to get in?_ Taking his wand in his right hand, he stalked towards the doorframe, trying not to do any noise that would sell him out. Positioning himself at the door's left side, he set his back flat against the wall and waited. He could now hear the footsteps, slightly growing in intensity. _They're going for my room. They know I'm here._

He fell to a crouching position and waited for his cue. The door's silver handle rotated as the person behind entered...

As soon as the dark figure set a foot inside his bedroom, Harry sprung from his low position and grabbed the intruder's left hand, which was still clamped on the handle. He pulled the grasped limb violently, causing his opponent to find himself airborne and tumbling towards the ground, where he fell with a surprised yelp. Harry didn't wait for the individual to gather his wits as he took position over the prone body, setting his own left knee on the opponent's back and placing his right foot next to the head so that the stranger wouldn't be able to raise his torso. Harry's right leg, literally draped over the intruder's neck, would act as an iron collar. Harry's left hand grabbed the person's right arm and twisted it backwards, while his right hand kept his wand to the ready, ready to fire off some curses. "Harry? What the heck are you doing? What's gotten into you?"

_Huh?_

_Definitively female, but I don't know of any female Death Eater save for Bellatrix Lestrange or probably Narcissa Malfoy but last time I checked, their voice weren't as youthful and high-pitched as that! And their hair were definitely not red mixed with...green?_ he thought in bewilderment. Only one individual favored such noisy colors in her hairstyle, exotic enough to easily stand out in a tight crowd. His breath hitched in realization. "Tonks?"

"Wotcher, Harry!" came the strangled voice of the metamorphmagus, still pinned to the floor by Harry's weight. "You do know how to make girls fall for you, don't you?" she gasped while trying without success to liven up the tense atmosphere. _What is she doing here?_

"Merlin, Harry, what are you doing?" came a disbelieving voice from behind him. Harry's wand instantly turned towards the doorframe, where a dumbfounded Remus Lupin stood. "Don't move! Stay where you are!" Harry snarled.

The werewolf stood back, startled by Harry's behavior then relaxed as he understood the young wizard's motives. "Ah...constant vigilance. I see you're learning, Harry..." he observed with a sad smile. "Ask me any question the true Remus Lupin should be able to answer..."

Harry thought for a second, fearing that the two individuals might be Death Eaters in disguise, using Polyjuice to gain his trust and kidnap him. _How ironic it would be - the day I chose to run away from the Order would be the one dear old Voldie-boy chose to catch me for his own fun. Really cracking. Fudge's going to laugh so hard about it he's going to die of lung collapse. _"Who is Snuffles and how did he escape three years ago?"

"Sirius Black and he got out by riding Buckbeak straight to Jamaica."

"What happens when someone speaks too loud in the Order's headquarters?"

"Sirius' mother starts screaming. Is that enough?" Remus asked, a small smile on his lips. Harry grunted in agreement and rose, finally freeing Tonks from her uncomfortable predicament. "Really, Harry, where did you learn that stunt? I swear, you got me real good!" asked the smiling witch, as if nothing had happened, not even noticing her inadvertent pun. She took her time to brush the dust off her robes and looked straight at Harry's eyes. The young wizard just shrugged in response. "I figured that I might need some physical force for my training so I worked out all summer with Dudley's weights. I also watched the Discovery Channel on television - they were showing self-defense techniques and the one I used to pin you with," he told the Auror "was a military technique used to disarm opponents and keep them in check until you bind your opponents' hands with manacles."

"Well," she commented in a cheerful voice, beaming at him. "I must admit you managed to get me out of combat! I swear, I didn't see that one coming!"

"Did you expect me to greet eventual Death Eaters with a tea tray and some biscuits?" replied Harry, looking around. _THAT_ was definitely not in his plans. If they decided to keep an eye on him then his attempt to leave the house was doomed. All that for nothing. _Defeated, once again..._

"Harry," came the strained voice of Remus Lupin, who laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, a look of urgency in his eyes. "We cannot tarry here any longer - we must get out as soon as possible."

"What?" asked Harry, fearing the worst. "Is there something...?"

Tonks shook her red-green hair. "No, we're here to take you to Sirius' Inheritance Ceremony before Dumbledore gets back at you and locks you in a dungeon. Snape's, most probably," she added with a large, teasing grin. Harry shuddered inwardly at the thought of being confined in the Potions Professor's rooms, forced to drink draughts and poisons for the rest of the summer. _Developing mushrooms on top of my hair, boils around my eyes and horns around my lips...eugh! _"I'd rather eat a Lethifold than go there..." he moaned. "But why...?"

"Harry," cut in Remus, gripping his shoulder tightly. "one thing you must know is that we're here out of our own volition. Dumbledore didn't agree to let you go - we're acting on our own. We have to get you out of this place to a safer, better area, do you understand?"

Harry's heart suddenly developed wings as his hope skyrocketed, threatening to kill him from a major artery aneurysm. He had obviously not expected that turn of events. "But...who's on watch duty right now?" he questioned, referring to the Order's sentinel posted outside to keep an eye on the house and its inhabitants. If they were to get out in the open, the guard would immediately report back to Dumbledore and thwart their plans to attend the Ritual.

"Don't worry about it - it's Moody who's on duty right now," explained Tonks, putting a size-reducing charm on Harry's trunk and taking from her robes' pocket a small package. "He's on our side ever since he starting having some disagreements with Dumbledore about the Headmaster's lack of action towards the Death Eaters. _'Indirectly kowtowing to the dark side', _as he put it. So he agreed to let us go. He'll tell Dumbledore that you were inside the house the whole afternoon while in fact you were only at Gringotts'."

"Really? Wicked!" he beamed at his companions' plan. _Abso-bloody-lutely brilliant. Guess it wasn't so bad, then..._

"Yeah! He'll join us afterwards to explain you what's going on and what needs be doing," grinned the female Auror. "Take this," she said, handing him the package. Harry took the object from her hand and started peeling the wrapping away, revealing a rather voluminous piece of finely woven black cloth. "What's this?"

"You'll need it for the ritual, Harry - it's a dress robe. Since Sirius belonged to the aristocracy, we'll have to obey to a few but very old and incredibly important rules of conduct. Ethics and etiquette, I mean. Senior Goblins attach a great value to traditions because they are rather proud of their ancestors' feats, especially during times of war - the apogee of their now dwindling civilization. That means that we'll have to enter the Will's Reading Room in great pomp with our robes and of course, a few changes to our appearances," patiently explained Remus. "I know that nobody has ever explained this to you since you were 'raised' by those Muggles," he went on, his nose wrinkling at the mention of the Dursleys. "But when it comes to purity of blood and aristocracy, a lot of traditions come in and whether you like it or not, you'll have to comply to the barriers and laws established by the etiquette and codes of well-conduct. Not to mention luster, of course. Appearances must be kept so as to not offend anyone."

"But...what about you?" he asked his two friends, shooting a glance at their casual attire. "Aren't you coming with me?"

Tonks waved him off with a joyful grin. "Don't worry, squirt, we're coming with you - we'll change, too. We cannot enter the Elderblood Chamber without formal dress robes, you know. The Goblins would kill us for that sign of disrespect," she chuckled. Harry's eyebrows frowned in interrogation. "By the way, what does that 'Elderblood' word stand for?" he asked.

"You don't know?" she asked, astounded by his lack of knowledge. "Oh, silly me, forgive me; Remus just said that you were never raised like a wizard so it makes sense that you're unaware of that. Blame me for my poor hearing," she continued, retrieving her beaming face. "The Elderblood Chamber is a room where ceremonies of great importance are performed, with the assistance of senior Goblin representatives to oversee the rituals themselves. The Elderbloods are people whose lineage are considered to be the oldest in wizarding history. Some of the greatest bloodlines even have their roots in the fifth century after Christ and only people who can prove that their ancestry stretch back that far can claim membership to this very select club. Even the Malfoys cannot boast having such an honor. But since most of those families are now either extinct or just had disintegrated under marriages with Muggleborns or half-bloods - thus causing a great lot of disowning and the like... - only a dozen people in this world can brag around about their belonging to the Elderblood clans. There are a few people left in Scotland but in mainland Great Britain...no more. Sirius was the last one. Majority of the 'new' pure-blood families find their roots in the eleventh or twelfth century but not before that. In six centuries, however, those families will be introduced to the clan, regretfully. I pity the Muggleborns who will have to suffer them. But the current Elderbloods will still retain their supremacy over the younger lines."

"Are we Elderbloods?"

"No," answered Remus, shaking his head in denial. "But the Blacks were. Sirius' line begins somewhere circa 413 A.D., according to his infamous family tree. Because of his status, we have to attend the Ritual in formal attire to honor him and his bloodline. A mark of respect, even though Sirius would have dismissed the Ceremony's grandiloquence. He wasn't one to like ceremonies, to be truthful. He hated them since they reminded him of his own family," Remus muttered darkly, reminding how Harry's godfather had ran away from Grimmauld Place to stay at the Potters' for the summer. "But if any title is bequeathed to any of us, then we will enter that...club, for lack of a better term. We will have to abide by its rules, at least when it comes to official occasions and events. Otherwise, we can do as we please."

"I see."

Harry slipped in his dress robes, fastening his trimmed collar, laced with golden intertwined tendrils and red leaves. His sleeves were covered in silver runes and the hem of his robes were adorned with ornamental drawings whose design strongly reminded of the Middle Ages, yet retained a sense of great elegance. "Looks good on you, lover-boy!" whistled Tonks with an appreciative smile. Harry scowled at her, trying to keep his dignity. "Tonks..."

The metamorphmagus only laughed in response and ruffled the teenager's already messy hair. "Hey, stop doing that, Tonks!" he huffed. "By the way, Remus..."

The werewolf, who had retreated to one of the bedroom's corner, looked up as he finished buttoning his own dress while picking up a pack of discarded, shabby clothes. "Yes, Harry?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"What are you on about, squirt?" asked Tonks with a perplexed tone. "I mean, why are you going against Dumbledore's orders? As far as I know, you, Remus, you always sticked by him when the Order was reformed to fight Voldemort, right?" That question earned him a nod from the former DADA professor, while the female Auror cringed at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. "Why the sudden change?"

Remus Lupin looked away, gazing through the window, as if deep in thought. For a scant second, Harry could swear that the ex-Marauder looked older than he really was, but he knew that it was only a light trick, as the shadows accented the werewolf's features and making him look several years older. The illusion, however, couldn't help but bring Harry a strange feeling of sadness and regret. "When...Sirius died, I realized that...except for you, I...I had no one else around me. Everybody was gone. James was dead, Peter had betrayed us..." Remus sniffed but remained composed. It was obvious to the remaining pair in the room that the graying man was battling his own tears and fighting his overpowering grief. Harry, especially, knew what it was to repress one's feelings and fight so that he could be stronger and be able to face the horrors of life. He could do nothing but sympathize with his surrogate, less-than-official, second godfather. "...Sirius was lost to us for the second time. Definitively...and you...you were on your road to your own damnation."

Remus walked to the window, looking straight at the sun. "Do you know what it is, Harry, to lose nearly everything you've got and on the verge to lose the rest? I think you do know. You do know what that feeling is. How it tears your heart, your soul apart, how it prevents you from sleeping, from thinking coherently. How it haunts you, day and night, at every step you make, the memories that come back to torment you every second of every minute of every hour of every bloody day... Did you...do you still feel the pain? I guess you do. We're in the same boat. You lost for the second time a father. I lost a brother. And you were the next one to go away." Tonks was also looking away, wringing her hands, her smile gone. She was fidgeting with her own robes, trying not to break the awkward atmosphere that hung in the small bedroom. Seconds prior, it was one of merriness and hope, but now it looked as if they had just attended a burial and were mulling over bad memories - which, in a way, was the case. "Can't you see, Harry? Death looming over us, reading to pick us from our peers and rip us out of this world? Can't you see it? I couldn't let that happen, not to you. Lily died to protect you. James died to protect you. Sirius..." his voice cracked as he enunciated all those who had perished to make this world better and save one child from the claws of a psychopath whose sole goal was to rule this world without share. "...sacrificed himself to ensure your safety. And...Dumbledore, that bastard," he spat the name, startling Harry by the use of such a coarse language. "...wasn't helping. He was doing to you the same thing he did to Sirius. Keep you in a cage until you got restless and willing to discard your safety for a brief but intense sense of freedom."

Harry didn't bother answering. Remus was right; he did want to run away from Privet Drive and feel, for the first time, the unabated joys of unshackled freedom.

"And I couldn't stand idle by. I couldn't let you die here in mind, ruining yourself over Sirius' death. I had to do something. So yesterday, I went to Dumbledore and ask you to come with me for a while, at my house." Harry's throat became constricted. Remus' house? He would have been glad to live for a while with his father's friend, even though Remus' lycanthropy posed quite a problem - but both of them would have found arrangements to prevent a disastrous accident. Remus shook his head, swelling with bitterness. "He refused. Just like that. Flat out. He just said 'no'. He told me that the only place you were safe was here. That piece of hell, to be precise," he interjected, gesturing at the room. "I tried to make him change his mind and...well, things got from bad to ugly. It became obvious that he didn't really care about you as much as I expected him to. He just wanted to make sure 'his only chance to bring the Dark Lord down once and for all' was away from the Death Eaters' grasp. He didn't mention it, but he admitted fearing you might turn dark."

"Dark? DARK? ME?" exploded Harry, fury rising from his heart. _THE GALL! I have spent five years of life trying to stop dark wizards and other foul creatures and the only thing he can say about me is that I'm going dark? What is he playing at? Has he gone off his frigging rocker?_

"Yes, dark," confirmed a resentful-looking Remus. Tonks nodded, her figure bearing a distressed look. Even her hair, now flat and lacking its usual shine, seemed to convey her sadness at how things had turned out. "He told me that since Voldemort finally succeeded in possessing you through a Legilimency-borne Imperius Curse, your...'mental integrity' was definitively compromised. He was even talking about an exorcism ritual to free you from the remnants of the spell but I think he was exaggerating. He was just trying to keep you under his elbow till the final battle. And what enraged me more was the fact that he didn't even bother training you." Remus seethed with anger. "He did nothing - he just kept waiting for information brought by Severus and continued making plans that he kept to himself and refused to share with the Order so that 'there wouldn't be any leaks in the Order should one of us be taken from our midst for interrogation by the Death Eaters'."

"And you, Tonks?" said Harry, not sure he wanted to hear the whole thing. He already had enough with Dumbledore's refusal to let him go to the Inheritance Ceremony and didn't want to add more to the mound of bitterness that kept piling up in his soul. Enough was enough. There was no need in setting fire to a growing puddle of oil.

"Well...it's nearly the same thing as Remus," she replied indulgently, a smile forming on her soft lips. Her hair regained some of its lost luster as her good mood picked up. It was actually very easy to see whether she was happy or not - one just had to look at her body language and hairstyle to determine that. Tonks had as much ability to lie and hide her feelings as a two-month old toddler had. Her vivacity was a nice bonus for those who liked her. "As he said, things had changed this past two months. Nothing was the same anymore. And it looked like it was for the worst," she admitted, hanging her head low in resignation. "People kept on shunning me out because I'm clumsy and not really useful on critical missions and...well, I decided to make myself useful to other cause. As for...you, squirt, well, Remus and I couldn't let you down, no matter what," she grinned. It was hypnotizing how she could return to a sunny mood as fast as she could snap her fingers. Absolutely mesmerizing and astonishing. "And...in a way, well, you were Sirius' godson, right?"

Harry nodded.

"Sirius was my favorite uncle even though the word isn't exactly appropriate since my _mother_ was his favorite cousin. But he was family nonetheless. And that makes you family too," she concluded, grinning widely. Harry found his eyes, usually dry with wryness directed at the world he lived, starting to water. Even Remus looked a bit moved, even though he remained the quiet guy in the background, always staying away from trouble but always stepping in when things got ugly or when a mistake was about to be made. That's how the Marauders' adventure shaped him. The young, raven-haired teenager hugged the metamorphmagus in silent thanks, his newfound 'relative' returning the gesture with arms full of gentleness. They both needed affection now, as the end of happy times had come. The turmoil was ahead and they needed to prepare for it. "Thanks, Tonks. Thank you for everything."

"It's nothing, squirt...as I said, you're family," she replied, her lips tremulous. "I always wanted to have a cousin of my own, but then the Malfoys aren't exactly family material, are they?" she joked. Harry chuckled in agreement. _Definitely not._

"Look, Harry, I know we, the three of us, really needed this, but we must hurry up before Mad-Eye's shift ends. Dumbledore is likely to show up to ensure you haven't gone away and have a talk with you so we really need to speed it up," he urged. He had donned dark blue robes trimmed with white, whilst Tonks had favored a deep green dress with azure highlights. She had changed her hair to a pale blue to keep her appearance harmonious, as red didn't exactly go along with green. "Strange as it sounds, squirt, the ceremony does not ask for robes that make the atmosphere look like you're in a cemetery," pointed out the metamorphmagus. "Instead, it is considered as a ceremony of transmission of power and goods, so it doesn't matter if you're wearing black or not, as long as it is fashionable and respectable. Keep that in mind."

"And, of course, we have to perfect our appearances..." concluded Lupin, waving his wand at Harry's hair. "_Prolato capillum!_"

Harry then felt a curious feeling rising from his scalp, something that closely resembled an itch yet didn't bother him as much as it should normally do. He tried to turn his head on his side, only for his cheek to enter in contact with...hair? Startled, he raised a hand to his neck, finding to his great bafflement, that his hair was now shoulder-length. "What...what did you do?"

"Have you ever noticed that all pure-bloods, or at least the eldest sons - I mean, the heirs of nearly every pure-blood family - always sport long hair? Draco and Lucius Malfoy, for example? Severus Snape? ...Sirius?"

Harry nodded. "It all comes back to History, once again. It's sort of like the Masons - you know, when they do their little rituals and gatherings, they all don Middle Ages-like attire so as to honor the memory of those who preceded them in their organization. It's a way to transmit the traditions to the future members. By the way, it inspires more respect and grandeur...majesty. All those attending such an event must give an impression of awe, of superiority..." Remus scowled at that. "That's the way it works. Remembrance of the past and of the lost splendors and wealth."

"I see, and you? What about your hair?"

"Just wait a minute, Harry, _prolato capillum,_" he intoned, his wavy, neatly arranged hair suddenly shimmering then growing in length. Tonks, who had arranged her hair in a ponytail and let two long locks of red hair to show her celibacy, put a golden necklace around her neck to emphasize her beauty. She had, thanks to her metamorphmagus skills, neatly rearranged her hairstyle so as to make it tamer and shinier, giving her an odd feeling of youthfulness that seemed inconsistent with her real age. She looked like she was five years younger. Remus then chanted "_pecto capillum_", causing Harry's wild, spiky hair, to fall flat on his head, neatly rearranged. The werewolf then took out a comb and brushed the bangs around Harry's forehead backwards, so as to let the face uncovered. "You'll have so wear some sort of jewel or trinket - customs again. It shows that you aren't a pauper - I know, squirt, I know, it's stupid, it's condescending, but it's like that. It's the etiquette. Don't think you can change it or the Goblins will rip your throat out before you can say 'Galleon'!" she quickly added, seeing the look of outrage forming on Harry's face. She then gave him a small necklace, from which a golden medallion hung. A little raven with unfolded wings stood in the little orb, as if intending on taking flight. He put the jewel around his neck and tried to get himself comfortable with his new clothes. It seemed a little bit...tight.

"Okay, are we done?" asked Remus. "We must go now. You got everything?" Tonks grinned in response, patting her robes' pocket, where she had put Harry's miniaturized trunk. The werewolf nodded and took Hedwig's cage under his arm, the owl looking on with wide eyes. She had not expected the sudden bustle and what wondering what was going on. "Right." He fished inside his own dress and took out a piece of parchment that he unfolded and handed to Harry and Tonks, saying: "You two get a hold of it. It's something that Moody nicked from the Ministry - it's an Auror's standard portkey that grants them unrestricted entrance to Gringotts in case of an attack, a break-in or a theft, when the Aurors need to get in quickly without Apparating inside the warded areas. It's not tracked by the Ministry so we won't be fined for it - and since Tonks is with us, they can't really say anything against our using that object. She just has to say that she's escorting Harry."

"Right in one, Remus!" cheered the Auror, smiling at Harry. "Being an Auror has its privileges, don't you think so?"

"You must be kidding me," answered Harry with a grin. He couldn't believe he was going to Gringotts to hear Sirius' Will and definitively going away from Privet Drive. Far away from Dumbledore, too. Life couldn't be better. "It's bloody brilliant!" Remus tutted at Harry's language and looked around them. "Are you ready to go?"

The two other individuals in the room nodded. Remus took his wand and pressed it against the fabric. "_Vigoro portum Gringotts, Penfield Alley_."

* * *

From across the street, Mad-Eye Moody, through his electric blue eye, saw the trio disappear in a flash of light, fading into nothingness. "Took them long enough," he grumbled, looking at his turnip watch before pocketing the device in his waistcoat. Looking around, he saw nobody except for a few bare-chested children playing in an inflatable swimming pool, enjoying the heat and the remainder of summer. "I hope everything goes well until the wards go down..." he muttered, knowing what was to come.

Potter would be finally set free and face his Destiny. A new path would open in front of the boy and a choice would be, at long last, given. Moody, in a way, knew that the young messiah couldn't refuse the way shown to him by his new world and that he, instead of trying to shove away the incoming unpleasantness, would have to embrace it in mind and body. For the better. His magical eye swiveled in its socket, gazing at the back of his head for any potential threat. "If only it could happen in more than twenty minutes..." he said in a gruff voice. "'Would let me the time to get away and be able to tell Dumbledore that the boy was still there when I ended my shift...I hope they don't screw up."

A car barreled by, breaking him from his reverie. For the first time in a decennia, Moody had actually been distracted by a matter of great importance, enough for a possible threat to come inside his defensive perimeter, close enough to attack him with a high probability of success. Swearing under his breath for his carelessness, the scarred Auror straightened up, before looking back at the now empty four, Privet Drive.

"A new power is arising. Its destiny is at hand."

In an unfamiliar show of emotion, Alastor Moody let out a sad sigh.

"And this time, I swear, I'll make him take the good path."

His oath vibrated with the determination of an old man with the experience of a thousand years.

* * *

As soon as the words died on Remus' lips, Harry felt the familiar jerk behind his navel and saw the world around him spinning around, washed in many different hues. The dizzying motion continued for a couple of minutes until he felt his feet slam on solid ground. For once, he didn't tumble down, a nice result from his physical training. Looking around, he found himself in a richly decorated alley, with on its borders a score of silver lampposts rimmed in gold and sporting a paving made of pure, shining, white marble. Gazing upwards, he saw an enchanted ceiling much like that found in Hogwarts' great hall, except that this time it didn't show a sky filled with the eventual clouds, but with moving paintings. The scene was that of a forest filled with animals going on with their life, hunting after each other, drinking the water of sparkling streams or flying above tall trees with a grace in which Harry could find himself immersed for long hours. The alley's walls also featured finely chiseled alcoves, which sheltered majestic-looking statues of wizards and witches of great fame and long since gone. "Where are we?" he breathed to his two companions who were looking at him with amusement. Well, Tonks was looking _up_ at him since she had, once again, managed to trip on her feet while trying to regain her balance after appearing in that particular area.

Remus smiled somewhat, his seriousness growing. "We're in Penfield Alley."

"Penfield Alley? Never heard of that one. The only one I know apart from Diagon is Knockturn," he frowned. Tonks dusted herself off, trying to regain her dignity. They were about to enter a sort of _sanctum sanctorum_ and no mishap was to be made. Elder Goblins were easy to offend and often asked for reparation through the 'old ways', which normally meant decapitation or public dismemberment. Of course, the wizarding laws prevented them from doing such barbaric traditions but the feeling remained, deep and intense. "No wonder you never heard about it, Harry. Penfield Alley is reserved to a very few members of the pure-blood families but commoners came come in for some particular occasions, like, for example, an Inheritance Ceremony." The werewolf started walking, dragging a marveling Harry behind him. "A guy named Findcath Penfield, a seventh century warlock king from Ireland, built that building, the Elderblood Manor, which is now architecturally linked to Gringotts' basement. He intended it as a sort of refuge, a shelter for the venerable families who swore fealty to him and sought asylum in his lands. Penfield, however, finally transformed this place into something short of a palace, an area where he could strut in front of his subjects and servants. Only people who were from a 'pure' bloodline could be granted a room inside Penfield Manor, provided, of course, they pledge once again their oath of faith in front of a Blood Fountain."

"A Blood Fountain?" asked Harry, a little bit uneasy.

"Yes, as you are going to see in a few minutes," Tonks took over. "when it comes to inheritance, public assertion of authority and passing of powers, blood is of the essence - as it is, literally, YOUR essence. The ultimate proof. With that, one could see whether you were faithful, truthful and whether you belong to the family you claim to be related to. In the Blood Fountain's case, a small sample of blood had to be taken from your body through a sacramental blade and used as a 'lie detector'. The collected liquid was thrown in an enchanted fountain where it mixed with crystal-water and where its authenticity was magically debated. If the oath-maker had spoken lies, he would immediately be struck down by a deadly curse emanating from the fountain and his body would be consumed by unquenchable flames." The metamorphmagus shivered, as the three walked under a Renaissance-like archway, before entering a great hall with its walls covered in mirrors and adorned with rubies, sapphires and diamonds. "Quite creepy. But nobody ever does something like that nowadays. Not even the Malfoys, the Notts or the Lestranges, since all knowledge of that type of magic - called _blood magic_ and _soul magic_ - is traditionally kept secret by the aforementioned families. As of now, only a dozen individuals in this world still know how to perform such rituals, that is, if it weren't for the Ministry frowning down on that custom because some of the higher-ups consider it as something close to Dark Magic - because they cannot perform it, therefore it is to be considered as _obscure_ and, in the end, _dark. _They don't like it one bit as they are weary of the Elderbloods despite the power that class holds."

"Oh?"

Lupin strode forwards, not bothering to look at the hundreds of paintings around him, his mind dead set on a single purpose. "Elderbloods are those who built the Ministry, Harry. They are those who created the first Wizarding Constitutions and Books of Laws. They even set up the predecessor of the Wizengamot to show you how enlightened and powerful they were. They could now, provided they could successfully pass the Blood Fountain test and prove their membership to the Elderblood clan, reclaim some...compensations from the current Ministry. And the whole institution would have to comply as each new Minister must take an oath to respect, in ever aspect, the founders' wishes of fortune and well-being for the British Wizarding Society. If the Ministers break their oath towards a descendant of the Elderblood or a heir of those families, well, not only will they be ousted from the Ministry, but they will also have to relinquish a lot of social and political privileges to the concerned people. Only one Elderblood ever did that stunt, a guy named Brendan Cauldwell, in the seventeenth century because the Ministry wanted to raise some new taxes and Cauldwell disagreed. Of course, the whole scandal was covered up so that the wizarding world would know nothing of it and that's why very few persons know about it nowadays, even the Goblins." With that, the group entered a new chamber, where four old-looking Goblins were waiting at rich desks, scribbling down notes on lengthy parchments. Remus made straight for the nearest one. Their footsteps made the creatures look up, eyebrows raised in expectancy and suspicion.

"But, Remus, if it is as secret as you claim it to be, how do _you_ even know about it?" asked a puzzled Harry, trying to get a grasp of what was happening. _I'm in a bloody palace and what does that make of me? Two minutes before I was just a bloody teenager in a decrepit-looking room and now I'm a bloody heir of an Elderblood in a frigging Manor that reeks of gold and precious gems! What comes next? Fudge dressed like a lackey offering me a glass of Firewhisky? 'Mr Potter, don't forget your Firewhisky. Would you like some caviar with it?' _"Sirius," sadly smiled Remus, remembering old fond memories. "He tutored me in History and since he had the perfect background for those classes, he passed me quite a lot of information, even some anecdotes that are quite embarrassing for the Ministry."

The former DADA professor then turned towards the Goblin, carefully setting Hedwig's cage on the floor.

"We're here for the _eiraght oardagh _of Lord Sirius Orion Black, Heir of the Most Noble House of Black and Head of the Terrington Line, son of Darius Celestin Black and Primula Elena Walters," he pleasantly told the Goblin, who scowled in return, before shuffling stacks of paper around, trying to find a document concerning that event. Judging by his speed, Harry could tell that even among the Elderblood, the purest of the pure, the Blacks held a lot of importance and power.

"It's Manx Gaelic," whispered Tonks in Harry's ear. "It stands for _inheritance ceremony_. Some rituals in here must be referred to by their ancient names. Which often means either Latin, Irish, Gaelic and some other forgotten languages like the Quithelmir, a tongue rumored to have been invented by druids a long time ago to transmit secret messages among themselves."

"And the hearing?"

"Will be made in English," interrupted the Goblin, looking straight at Harry. The gnarly-looking creature rose from his high chair and took from a drawer a golden plate and an ornamental dagger, offering the object to Remus. "Please put a drop of your blood in the decanting plate, if you please."

"What is it for?" asked Harry.

"It serves as a way to confirm you identity," answered Lupin, using the dagger's tip to make the blood appear. The drop fell on the plate with a dull _plop_, before the piece of dishware started to glow. Harry involuntarily took a step backwards before noticing that the three around him had not reacted the same way as him, the two human beings merely opting for looking on and the Goblin to peer over a piece of parchment. Harry's eyes soon found themselves riveted on the sheet as _words_ actually appeared on them, as if written by an invisible hand. "Remus Julianus Lupin, son of Charles Elmer Lupin and Tabitha Cordgeon. Very well, you are indeed on the list, you may enter the Chamber of Inheritance," he said, gesturing with a clawed finger towards a passageway on their left. "Please wait for me before actually stepping inside. There are still a few security measures to take care of. Miss?" he asked Tonks. She repeated Lupin's gestures and waited for the confirmation. "Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Theodore Tonks and Andromeda Black. Very well, please wait for me."

Harry gulped as the Goblin looked at him, staring straight at his lightning bolt-shaped scar. Harry took the dagger, pricked his finger and let a crimson drop fall onto the golden disk. The runes were then lit aglow and, seconds later, his name appeared on the Goblin's parchment. "Harold James Potter, son of James Potter and Lilian Evans. Excellent. You are all on Lord Black's Inheritance List. Please follow me and leave your belongings here. You do not need anything and my colleagues here," he gestured at the three other Gringotts employees who were all looking at them with solemnity, as if witnessing a great, memorable ceremony - which, in a way, was the case. "will look after them for you. Let me just call for the Elderblood Senior Solicitor," he concluded, reaching for a little bell and shaking it, the sound ringing with a crystalline tone in the vast hall. Harry cast a reassuring smile at Hedwig, whose cage had been settled on the floor, and received an encouraged _hoot_ in return. Comforted by his pet's acquiescence at letting him go, he turned to follow his companions towards the next crossroads in their destiny.

Without uttering a single word, the four of them made their way inside the passageway, which was only being lit by a long row of glaring torches, adding a serious, grave atmosphere to the surroundings. In front of them, twenty meters ahead, stood two great oaken doors, upon which was carved a great seal ringed with ebony. A great dragon of diamond spouting fire stood in the middle of the circle, its eyes eerily glittering. "Remus? Are we...are we the only ones to go here? Just the three of us?" questioned Harry, surprised that they were the only ones to attend the ritual. Normally, people like the Weasleys would have been cited in the Will but it seemed not, as they were the only ones that had been given a convocation. Remus shook his head in regret. "Sirius originally wanted to change his will to include the Weasleys and the Order in it but he...he didn't have the time nor the mood to do it. He...he did plan on surviving this war," the werewolf choked. Tonks patted his back, trying to comfort the grief-stricken man. "...But he never a chance to modify the document. He absolutely refused to leave the Malfoys, Lestranges and other families acquainted with the dark, a single Knut and was actually considering leaving his faraway cousin, Mr. Arthur Weasley, a certain amount of money, as well as for the Tonkses, since her part of the Black Tree was the only one he trusted to remain faithful to the Light. Of course, you and me," he pointed himself and then Harry. "were in the list as we were his closest...relatives so he wanted us to be the first ones to receive something from him...should he...should he die before the end of this accursed battle. Consequently, he posted a draft of his will to Gringotts and just waited for this war to end before making a full-fledged one. The fact that he was disowned didn't make matters easier."

"What do you mean?" The doors were still fifteen meters away and the group was closing in slowly but resolutely.

"There was a conflict of interests in Sirius' family. His mother wanted to disinherit her son, whilst his father wanted the name Black to live on. The fact that Sirius' brother died at the hands of Voldemort meant that all the Blacks' belongings had to be handed over to the Malfoys and the Lestranges, since Sirius' cousins had married other pure-bloods and therefore relinquished their maiden name in favor of their husbands'. The Black family line would have then completely disappeared despite the blood bonds. So old Darius Black made it clear in his will, after Regulus' passing was made known to him, that Sirius was to become the new head of the Most Noble House of Black the moment he, Darius, died, be it of age or other causes like Voldemort. I do not need to point out that old Primula threw a fit after that. But the other problem is that since he was imprisoned, he didn't have a chance to inherit directly when Darius finally departed without reconciling himself with his estranged son. Therefore, Sirius is only passing on to us what he should have received from Gringotts had he not gone to Azkaban. Do you understand?"

"I guess, but I thought that assets were seized when nobody came to claim them," Harry pointed out. Remus looked thoughtful at that but shook his head. "Well, Gringotts deemed him unable, against his will, to come to the ritual because of the Ministry incarcerating him. In consequence, the bank made an exception, in accordance to the wizarding laws. Sirius' heirs, however, could and can reclaim his heirloom in all legality. The assets are seized only if the heirs do not _deign_ coming or fail to _report_ their delay. If a convict is relaxed or proved innocent, he can come back to Gringotts and perform the Inheritance Ceremony even though there a lot of time passed between the deceased parent's death and the heir's release from Azkaban. And since Sirius was an Elderblood..." he trailed off, the message clear as crystal.

"I understand," Harry replied, just as the group came to a stop in front of the doors. The Goblin raised his arms over his head and began to chant in Gobbledegook.

"_Adoga gevdil de madoth,_

_E de tidgita gedak dhagor,_

_Tirithil bashdan om shtalak,_

_De okagh il de vidui gal,_

_Astarax gedak om faduig!_"

"What did he say?" asked a befuddled Harry, trying to understand what the Goblin had just said.

"Search me," answered Tonks with a smile. "Goblins do not like to translate their own languages for our benefit. They make an exception rather reluctantly for the human diplomats and politicians but they prefer to speak English when it comes to making deals with the Wizarding world. They are rather protective of their own tongue. They don't want mere humans to besmirch it."

"I see you do know about our customs and opinions," smirked the Goblin, as the sound of heavy bolts and other restraints unlocking broke the silence before the two doors, with a great groan, broke open, revealing a dark room, slightly smaller than the hall they had just vacated but with a drastically less flamboyant look. "Not many people bother to ask about our likes and dislikes. We're often considered as spawns of the devil, horrors created by a sick Nature and subjected to other wild theories that do nothing but belittle us because of our differences. The only pride we take in world is the fact that we are assigned with managing the wizards' and witches' assets and gold, a task of utmost importance. And the fact that the Fountain of the Magical Brethren in the Ministry of Magic doesn't have a Goblin in it anymore. The statues were taken down a month ago, much to our pleasure."

"It is indeed regrettable that such beliefs have become society standards," agreed Lupin, softly smiling. It always paid off having the Goblins on your side. "I myself am a werewolf and an outcast. You experience the scorn at all times because of your differences while I experience the dark side of my world through my disease, even though I'm still human. We are not so unalike, if one bothers to go deeper in the analysis of our world's prejudices and flaws."

The Goblin's lips spread apart to show a row of sharpened, yellow teeth; Harry interpreted the gesture as the human equivalent of a smile, but one that made his skin crawl. It was so creepy, he reflected. "Ar, you are right in that, mister Lupin. It is a sad world we live in, indeed. I am glad we could relate, with our different yet identical experiences. I knew we could understand each other."

"A friend of mine," Harry began, trying to liven up the atmosphere. "is currently setting up an association militating for the welfare of house-elves, but she is getting a lot of reluctance from our peers as you could expect. But she isn't backing down no matter what so you might be interested in her works."

The Goblin stopped in his tracks before looking at the young wizard straight in the eye, interest sparkling in his dark pupils. "In my lifetime, I have heard many strange tales but this one is unheard-of yet. A witch taking the trouble to worry over the treatment and the enslaving of house-elves? She must be a remarkable individual, if what you're saying is true, mister Potter," declared the creature with a raised eyebrow. Harry sighed, as he knew that many prejudices would remain in both camps, the slanderers and slandered. No one would dare lower the barriers they had put against each other. "It indeed sounds ridiculous, if not incredible," agreed Harry. "But it is true. Her name is Hermione Granger. She's in the same year as me in Hogwarts and she's undoubtedly the cleverest witch in the entire school. I just hope her curriculum vitae, when she'll graduate, will help her further her goals."

The Goblin looked pensive at that, then nodded grimly, before turning back at the open doors. "Please follow me."

The trio complied without an afterthought.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore looked at his Transfiguration teacher as she pursed her lips in obvious disapproval. "Why, Albus, are you asking me to keep an eye on her? Isn't it enough that we have to intrude in Mr. Potter's life by keeping tabs on him?" Minerva McGonagall was, in many ways, a very stern woman, and few acquaintances of hers could easily prove that statement wrong. Born in Scotland in the 1940s just before the defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald, she had been raised with an extremely education and by parents who fiercely abode by old clannish traditions, trying to impart their daughter with the ways of life of their renowned ancestors, some of which were highlanders, warriors that had long fought for the independence of that country, annexed to England for a very long time. Even though her wish to see her land slipping out of the British Queen's grasp and acquire its own freedom had pitifully withered away, her mind still remained the same, as sharp and strict as ever. She had, instead of pursuing a wild dream doomed to oblivion, used her extensive knowledge of transfiguration to contribute to other children's education. After all, in her opinion, there was no higher honor than in helping others building their own life. But what Albus Dumbledore was asking of her was unacceptable even in time of war. "Ms. Granger has already got enough burdens on her shoulders as it is, Albus. Surely you wouldn't want to add any more judging by her current state, would you? May I remind you that she is currently recovering from a _Death Eater attack_ _that caused her to remain in the Hospital Wing for the rest of last year?_" she added, her eyes blazing. "What are you trying to do, exactly? As far as I know, you only have authority and jurisdiction over them during school year, not holidays!"

"I understand your concern over Ms. Granger's well-being, Minerva," began Dumbledore, trying to calm his colleague. "but ever since Voldemort," The familiar shiver of fear ran through the old woman's body, even though the Headmaster paid no heed to that particular reaction. "tried to get matters in control, the rules of engagement have changed. He will go after targets of great importance, such as Mr. Potter and other pure-blood wizards who have declined his offer to join the darkness. Among the other targeted individuals are also those who hold a symbolic meaning, like those who can be considered as superior to the pure-bloods in term of knowledge and, of course, abilities."

Minerva McGonagall didn't bother answer. She knew what Dumbledore was implying. Hermione Granger was her prize student and was most probably the most clever witch of the entire decennia. She was undoubtedly meant to become one of the wizarding world's most capable graduates and climb up the echelons of this society's ladders if it weren't for some reticence from certain parties - all about letting a Muggleborn securing a high position in the wizarding world's pyramid of power. As Hogwarts' most intelligent student right now, she indeed stood a good chance of being one of Voldemort's targets. Especially with certain Death Eaters' children attending school at the moment and holding a grudge against her. "But, Albus, what right do we have to steal them away from their households? The Grangers are extremely concerned about her health and keeping their daughter away from them will only attract to yourself their anger. What right do you hold over Ms. Granger's parents? Are you her grandfather?" she snapped.

"I am entitled with her safety," pointed out the old, bearded wizard. "It is my duty to look after her and see to it that she doesn't get harmed in any way."

"But you wouldn't do that for Mr. Malfoy, would you?" she shot back, her long nose scrunching in annoyance as she remembered the obnoxious, self-centered and pompous Slytherin, whose father had been imprisoned just before the end of his fifth year. Three entire houses out of four hated him with a passion and few were those who would willingly help him in a life-threatening situation.

The old headmaster only let a millisecond of hesitation transpire before replying. However, his answer's slight delay was enough to confirm Prof. McGonagall's suspicions. "No, Minerva, would you really think that of me?" questioned the old, wizened wizard, peering over his spectacles with an inquisitive look. His grandfather-like appearance did nothing to appease the witch's growing outrage at his dodging her question.

"Knowing how you keep yourself interested in Mr. Potter's dealings does that to anybody concerned with this war and the school, _Albus_," she retaliated, putting an emphasis on the wizard's first name, mocking the familiarity both shared. "I know the Weasleys wouldn't care about being under your protection but the Grangers are another matter. They are Muggles, for Merlin's sake!" she exclaimed, her lips pursing in disapproval. "How do you expect them to react when you'll announce your wish to have their daughter away from their care?"

"There are matters of greater importance," insisted the defeater of Grindelwald, his eyebrows slightly furrowing and the tinkle in his eyes now gone. "This war is brewing stronger and we need our assets safe away from the Dark Lord. If Mr. Potter's friends were to be injured in any way, imagine how he would react. Young people are known to act rashly when confronted to an ordeal or pressured by danger. They have to survive this conflict at all costs."'

"There you go again about your 'war', Albus! They are children, by Merlin! Not soldiers!" she shouted, revolted at the old man's stubbornness. She had had to put up with him all summer long about how he wanted to make the Order of the Phoenix more efficient and had gone against nearly half of his decisions, like putting most of the organization's members under the Fidelius Charm and asking for an alliance with some shadowy, underground organizations that had remote ties with the Death Eaters. Intelligence-gathering was the main goal of that last project, but it put too much things at risk and the stern Transfiguration professor _did_ harbor a strong dislike of those groups that looked benignly upon dark arts instead of looking away from that science's entrancing looks. _Do the ends always justify the means, Albus? Are you ready to risk that? Children's innocence? Lives? Hope?_ McGonagall's Scottish sense of honor was kicking up in her mind, telling her to refuse any of those plans and search for other, more reasonable options.

"Whether they like it or not, they're now antagonists participating in this war, Minerva, like you and I. And as you may have noticed, they have an uncanny knack to become embroiled with trouble of any type."

"You disgust me."

With that, the respectable teacher whirled away, walking briskly out of the Headmaster's office, her head held high in disdain, a look of fury etched on her features. She had taken too much in a few minutes. Right behind her, an old individual sighed half with exasperation and half with regret. "Why don't they understand that this has to be done, for the sake of our world?"

Once again, Fawkes didn't answer. He seemed to have taken that habit to heart quite likely, much to his owner's annoyance.

Suffice it to say, Albus Dumbledore's plans were not proceeding either smoothly or as he had predicted.

* * *

"Crikey! This is huge!" breathed Tonks, as she gazed for the first time at the Inheritance Chamber, marveling at the black marble walls that cast a serene and solemn atmosphere to the surroundings, beckoning the bystanders to adopt a decent behavior. There were twenty seats made of blackened oak rimmed with ebony and adorned with ivory carvings, all of which depicted the same roaring dragon, looking skywards and shooting fire from its fanged mouth: the symbol of the Elderbloods, who had fought those untimely beasts when they roamed free across great lands marred with war and plagues, before science vanquished religion and changed the face of the planet. The white color, of course, represented purity. The seats were ordered into two rows, both of them placed in front of a great, ornamented desk, upon which stood two silver platters and laid one sword whose hilt was encrusted with diamonds and rubies of the purest kind. _Not unlike Godric Gryffindor's... _The room's walls were bare, adding to the austerity of the location and reminding the attendants of the seriousness of the ritual. The ceiling was painted in dark and covered in runes, but completely unfamiliar to Harry, who had seen quite a few of the runic alphabet from Hermione's books. Lupin saw Harry gazing upwards with a confused expression and smiled indulgently. "Those aren't runes, those are sephirotic symbols."

"Sephirotic?"

"This country once was under the dominion of Christian kings, remember? Some scholars that had traveled far and long deep in Middle East, near Israel and Syria during the Crusades, brought back many magical scrolls in their homeland, hoping to discover new fields of magic and gain more power. In a way, they did, but as some of those parchments and codex's held 'blasphemous' words or ideas, they burnt most of the artifacts in great pyres _'for the greatest glory of God',_ leaving but few remnants of those remarkable works for their descendants. And that science was immediately forgotten by European wizards, except for a few in Prague and in the Netherlands where the communities were a little bit more benevolent towards foreigners and their belongings. As a result, sephirotic symbols, despite their supremacy over runes, were completely abandoned. Only Elderbloods use them nowadays. Sirius, for his part, never completed his family training. You can only guess why."

The trio chose three front-line chairs and sat down, as close as they could to the desk on the platform in front of them. As Goblins were small compared to humans, they still wanted to keep their dignity intact by raising themselves at a wizard's height. The Goblin that had led them, known as Girtgold, walked up the small stairs to the platform and deposited a stack of papers onto the table. Three other Gringotts employees, appearing from nowhere, joined him, dressed in rich clothes and all bearing the Gringotts' seal. The eldest-looking creature grunted before looking at the three humans in front of him and took out a pair of spectacles from his red waistcoat's pocket before putting them on the bridge of his nose, giving himself a look of great importance. Remus and Tonks rose from their seats before bowing before the four creatures. Harry, not having a clue as to how to behave, did the same thing, trying to keep the synchronicity. The four Goblins returned the gesture, before the eldest spoke up.

"First, I would like to thank you for your coming to the Ritual and attend the Legacy Ceremony," he began, nodding. "Elderblood celebrations have become increasingly rare as the years come and go, never to return. The number of those with the old blood flowing through their veins has withered to a scant dozen, and it is a honor for us, Elder Goblins, to be obliged to you by helping you and your families sort matters linked to Elderblood business as you are, indeed, related to that illustrious clan in a way or another, since you are mentioned in today's Will. We Goblins think that the ways of old must be kept alive and if it not possible anymore, then that we must hand their knowledge over to the later generations so that the memories of our ancestors remain unscathed in our hearts and souls," he proclaimed. "My name is Solicitor Ripbag. I will be the one who will read the will while my two colleagues, Elders Digring and Baldvook, will assist me with the ceremony and will help you with the legal proceedings afterwards. But before we begin, I must make the call, as the tradition begs from my part."

He took a sheet of paper, cleared his voice and asked aloud.

"Remus Julianus Cordgeon-Lupin?"

Remus nodded. "Present."

"Harold James Evans-Potter?"

Harry answered too. "Present."

"Nymphadora Black-Tonks?"

"_Present._" Harry couldn't help but chuckle at his 'relative's peeved look. She would never get over the dislike her name elicited from her. Ripbag nodded and folded the letter away, before once again resuming his speech. "Two months ago, this world has unfortunately witnessed the passing of one Sirius Orion Black, Lord and Heir of the Most Noble House of Black, son of Darius Celestin Black and Primula Elena Walters, also Head of the House of Terrington by inheritance from his uncle's side, namely Regis Andorra Terrington's. Expecting his own death, Lord Black has forwarded us a copy of his own will, so that his heirs, friends and family could benefit and inherit from his assets. His wishes were that his familiars wouldn't mourn too much over his death and go on, enjoying the joys of life as long as they last."

Remus stiffened as he heard of his 'brother's wish, while Harry slumped in his seat, feeling his new dress suddenly too tight for his own throat. _I need a Butterbeer. Scratch that, Firewhisky sounds more like a winner to me. _Tonks looked on with a sad smile.

"Even though his will wasn't definitive because of certain restraining circumstances that prevented his Lordship from performing the Will Ceremony as the traditions asked from his part, he had only left Gringotts' with a draft of his last wishes. Normally, that document," Ripbag observed with a frown. "wouldn't have been validated if it weren't for his rather complicated and sensitive condition, so to speak the fact that he was held by the Ministry as criminal and branded as an enemy of society hence his legally being stripped from freedom. In all respects, his belongings should have been seized by officials and redistributed, but his Elderblood privileges prevented that regrettable event from happening. As some events, as regrettable as Lord Black's predicament, also prevented his Lordship from writing the true Will, we will consider the draft he owled us as the official document and perform the ritual as we would normally do, in memory, honor and respect of your lost loved one," he finished, looking regretfully at the trio. "Let the ritual begin!"

The three wizards bowed once again in agreement.

Two Goblins behind Ripbag walked up to the desk, one with a phial filled with a clear liquid, and the other holding a silver cylinder, held by a silken seal. Ripbag took the latter in his hand and ripped the sash away with one claw, and opened the container. He inserted two fingers inside and took out a rolled sheet of paper. The two assistants stepped back, joining Girtgold in the corner of the chamber, shrouded in darkness. Harry's heart was pounding with dread. _That is Sirius' will._ The world in his head was spinning, reeling back from the pieces of news he had learnt in less than thirty minutes. The Elderbloods, the rituals, Dumbledore, his two friends staging a small rebellion against the Order, his leaving the Dursleys... _What's next?_

Unfolding the sheet of parchment, Ripbag read aloud, keeping a finger on his spectacles.

_"I, Sirius Orion Black, Lord heir of the Most Noble House of Black,_

_"In the event of my death, have wrote here my last wishes. Those who might hear them might not recognize me for the formal tone I'm currently taking, as most will remember me for the pranks I played during my lifetime. A joker and an epicurean I was and always will be; but this time I'll make an exception, to satisfy my class' wish of decorum and flamboyance. I owe that much to the Goblins whose assistance during my hard moments was very much appreciated, despite the official nature of our dealings. If you are there, yes, Remus, I'll do an exception, even though I hope you'll forgive me for giving you such a nasty shock. Harry, I must first ask for your forgiveness, for your hearing my last words in such an austere fashion, but I hope you'll pay no heed to the sadness that I'm leaving you too like an inheritance of sorts. I am now dead, and you mustn't mourn me too long or, as the saying goes, if you gaze too much into the abyss, then the abyss will take you._

_"Enjoy life as you can, my friends. Existence is too short a privilege to be wasted upon so depressive matters. That is one of the reasons why my friend James and I founded the Marauders. Because we didn't want to burn our lives cooped up waiting for death to take us. The worst thing that could happen to us is die of apathy. I hope, even though I will no longer be there to confirm it, that I will pass away in action, whatever it means. Dying in your bed is so lame and unfitting for someone like me. I always said - don't you remember, Remus? - that I will not go without a last bang and I hope I remained true to my words. But let us tarry not over such matters - as time calls for more urgent things that need to be done ere the sun sets upon this world._

_"First, in order to facilitate the legal proceedings after the ritual will be done according to the Elderblood traditions, to all those named in this will, I bequeath some of the titles placed in my care, as well the privileges they entail. This is not only my way to thank you from being my friends or to have given me your trust and stood by me in times of need and sorrow, but also a necessary precaution to ensure the inheritance will proceed smoothly before this accursed Ministry lays its filthy hands on what 'meager' assets I have left. Remus, I can already hear you laughing. 'Meager', indeed!_

_"Anyway, to you, my friend Remus Julianus Lupin, I bequeath the ownership and regency of Abhainn Moors, near Inverness, Scotland, where my ancestors of the Most Noble House of Black once hunted boar and deer alike for their own entertainment. Do not thank me, it's the least I could do to repay you for the friendship you shared with James and I, me the lone boy who became homeless and friendless because he longed so desperately for freedom. It will never be enough in my own heart and I hope you will gladly accept my gift at least as a reminder of what I was in my younger years, when we were reckless and free like the blowing wind."_

Remus' hand, which had clamped on Harry's left arm when his own name had been pronounced aloud, suddenly tightened to a painful level, the iron-like grip making the young wizard cringe. However, what struck Harry most was the look on the werewolf's face: one of astonishment...no, _disbelief._ As he had been shunned away by wizards and witches alike for his own disease and branded as a danger as equally evil and terrible as a wandering leper, he had had to live in poverty for many years and be denied many job offers by biased employers because of a cursed bite received during his childhood. Learning that he now had an aristocratic title was enough to give him a heart attack. _From poverty to wealth, the path is long and hard to tread_, someone had told him. Tonks, however, was trying to make Lupin come back to the real world, by nudging him in the stomach with her elbow, that is, until Ripbag spoke her own name.

_"To my dear cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, I bequeath the title of Elderblood Clan member (a title which legally belongs to you by blood) and the earldom of Terrington and its consequent Ladyship, as an unfortunately delayed compensation for your part of the family being disowned for 'consorting with Muggles'. Think also of it as a thanks for believing me when I told you I was innocent. The title of countess also applies to your mother and your father, even though the prerogatives it holds do not apply to the Muggle world. Your delightfully entertaining father, unfortunately, will have very little to gain with that new rank, as Muggles are normally denied power inside the wizarding world. Whether you chose to bear the names Black or Terrington or chose to remain a true Tonks is up to you. However, your curriculum vitae will still retain the official title of countess of Terrington, no matter what your choice will be."_

For the first time in his life, Harry saw what Tonks looked like when she was gobsmacked: open-mouthed, hair slightly frizzy and eyes wide open, the torso slightly leaning forward. If it weren't for the reasons Sirius invoked, Harry would have laughed out loud and caused a slight incident, breaking some rules of conduct in the Chamber. Tonks definitely deserved her farewell gift as much as Remus did. Both were outcasts and black sheep in their own way and both needed compensation for the hurt they had had to endure. In Remus' case, for being rejected because of his illness and in Tonks', for having to put up with the disdainful looks given by the Malfoys, the Lestranges and the remaining Blacks. That was about to change and Harry felt happy for them. _And..._his heart stopped as he thought of an eventuality that hadn't yet come to his knowledge. _Did he want me to receive something, too? Don't tell me..._he thought with panic seeping through his mind. His fear, however, was confirmed when Elder Goblin, was a disapproving look, spoke the last sentence of the will's introduction.

_"And to my dear godson, Harry James Potter, surrogate son and nephew, I bequeath the hereditary titles and privileges of Elderblood Clan member, of Head and Heir of the Most Noble House of Black, as well as the rank of Lordship."_

* * *

**An author's notes: _of OOCness and other divergences..._**

Long chapter, I know, but I had to insert the Elderblood thing as it is rather important for what's following. I nearly turned this chapter into a historical fic, but I needed it done, as well as begin the whole Inheritance ritual. I intended it to go quite fast but as I kept on writing I realized, to my dismay, that it kept adding to the pile without the end never seemed to come. I wanted to endch. 03with a sort of cliffhanger so there you go. Did you notice that I'm always writing 'he did this, then that with this shaking and that being rather bla-bla-bla, and he did this and that...', huh? That I could easily sum it up? Well, I'll try to cut it shorter, even though I got some positive response about my deepening this story and showing the reasons of every act portrayed in here. After the Inheritance Ritual's end, I think, as I stated earlier, that the story is going to be more fluid. It's going to run faster. So keep some hope in your heart. The next chap.shows the end of the ritual and some decisions made so keep your head out for some developments. The wheels are turning.

Did you like Harry saying farewell to his relatives? Well, that part was originally put here to lighten a bit the atmosphere, as I found the two previous chapters to be a little too dark for my own taste, even though I envision my series as a serious one. Oh, the alliteration! Nice choice of words... Uhm, yeah, anyway, that part was pretty OOC (Out Of Character, for those who are unfamiliar with the term) from my part - and as for Harry behaving strangely in that area? - let's just say that it is a accumulation of two things: his wanting to not go away without a bang and make them suffer and his changing over the summer. Sarcasm was originally intended, but I had to make it less dark and violent, so as to keep the Dursleys in check. After all, insulting Vernon Dursley would only get him mad as a bull seeing a red flag in front of his eyes. And then would come the boxing match between Harry and Vernon - not what I intended. Sarcasm shouldn't have come with ridicule and playfulness but I wanted the Dursleys becoming mute before the news. So sorry if some of you raised some eyebrows and if you started laughing instead of wondering what was happening, then I think my writing fulfilled its purpose. But watch out, as you won't be seeing much of those moments in the series in the near future. It's angst, remember? I'm making this fic up as I go, and I don't know what's going to happen next. Some guy asked me what will my updating frequency be, and to that I answer: one chapter per week, if all goes well. My Eva fics kept the same pace but I got busted because the Eva area is dying (the lack of response was actually what killed my Eva: RIP series before the third chapter even got out) and I was getting bored with what I was writing. I had set too much barriers around me even though I was trying to break them. HP seems much more promising since magic allows quite a lot of freedom as to what is going to happen, even though a writer must take care not to fall into absurdity while enjoying those new privileges.

Now, I said some seconds ago that I didn't know what was going to happen. Well, I'll confess, that's a lie. I DO have some scenes in mind, but the story is weaving itself as I write it. I have the features set but they way it will unfold is up to my writing. I'm also struggling to put in some new things that will make the fic unlike other stories. By the way, just to make myself clear: Harry's not related to any of the four founders or Merlin, 'kay? And don't even mention Morgane La Fée either (besides, why do people always spell 'Morgane La Fée' _Morgana La Fay_? A 'fée' in French, means 'a faerie' and Morgane was one of them so what the heck?). Maybe some great, distant wizard lost in the turmoil of Time but definitely not those five. That's overused, highly unlikely (by the way, according to J.K.R., Godric's Hollow, until then thought to be the Potters' house, is just the name of a nearby village, not a cottage) and it sort of looks too easy to me. Not that I'm searching for complications and difficulties, of course, far from it, but...well, being an author's not an easy job, don't you agree? By the way, some of the Inheritance Ritual's features like the dresses, use of blood, long hair and the following junk were inspired by lisa roquin's _Hogwarts Apprentices I: Gentry Green_, that can be found on FFN. Just look on my profile and browse through the favorite links to see what I'm talking about. Nearly everything is else is my creation.

And as for that reviewer who told me about people not caring whether flames are accepted or not, well, while I have to admit he's right, I still stand my ground when it comes to those ridiculous rants. As I said, you have freedom of expression but it still remains that those flames are extremely frustrating if not annoying. Even though my message will probably not get through, I still had to voice my annoyance. Thanks for pointing the obvious, though - no offence intended. But I still had to make the announcement, no matter what. It's just a matter of principles.

Now, if you will permit me, I'm going to grab a coke and get back to work for the fourth installment of HP-ASIT. I'll get back at you as soon as I can.

GOT QUESTIONS? ASK ME, I'LL TRY TO ANSWER THEM, EITHER BY E-MAIL OR A/N:

_Until next time,_

**abi2301**


	4. Chapter 04: A Lord Among Us

**Harry Potter: A Soul In Tension**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 04**

**v.01: 03/06/2005**

**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Soul In Tension' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

* * *

**Chapter 04: ****A Lord Among Us**

_"And to my dear godson, Harry James Potter, surrogate son and nephew, I bequeath the hereditary titles and privileges of Elderblood Clan member, of Head and Heir of the Most Noble House of Black, as well as the rank of Lordship."_

It is often said that when suffering nasty emotional shocks one often feels like the world had stopped spinning. Even though that eventuality is physically impossible without suffering dire consequences like being thrown at supersonic speeds through the landscape because of the inertia principle, the image had prevailed in many minds, conveyed by literature and tales, and the expression became quite popular when it came to describe what one felt in such heart-stopping situations. For Harry Potter, despite his being the Boy-Who-Lived, the only wizard ever to survive the Killing Curse and the youngest Seeker in a century, his being was no exception to the rule. Such were the caprices of Fate. For one blessing always came an additional boundary or a reminder of sorts.

However, unlike his two other companions, Harry _did_ voice his bewilderment. "WHAT?"

Ripbag, Elderblood Senior Solicitor and Elder Goblin, frowned in disapproval, noticing the infringement of the required etiquette. However, as the young wizard, he guessed, was quite new to those nearly forgotten traditions, he let that part pass, noticing that the woman Tonks and the man Lupin both broke out of their trances to shush the disbelieving teenager, preventing him from rising from his chair and definitively ruin the austere atmosphere. Ripbag let a few moments fly away for the three to recollect their wits then went back to reading Sirius' Will, even though he knew his next words would fall on half-deaf ears. Not that he blamed them; it was as if he were just a Gringotts teller being announced that he was promoted as the Bank's president or its chief executive officer. Quite a nasty shock, he judged.

For Harry, things were not going better; in fact, they were taking a sour taste. His mind was spinning like mad and his head dangerously felt like throbbing. _A bloody Lord? What in the blazes is happening? Me, Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived, nemesis of Voldemort, idol of the wizarding world, a Lord? Aristocracy? Elderblood? Bollocks! What's going to come after that? Dalai Lama? Pope? _His self-control training, that he been polishing off the whole summer, did not, this time, pay off as the declaration struck home, stinging deep into the deepest recesses of his soul, reawakening the pent-up hurt and setting it free. The piece of news had, unknown to him, broken his emotional barrier by the sheer element of surprise and taken his guard down. _What's this? My bloody two-cent, written-on-a-hunch, modern fairy tale? _Setting his head between his hands, he begged for his world to return to normalcy, not even feeling the soft, comforting hand Tonks had put on his shoulder. Nonetheless, the high-pitched, guttural voice of Ripbag was the one thing that took him away from his daze. _Hermione is going to kill me if she learns that I'm going to become a pureblood. But pureblood is a question of ancestry and behavior, right? Not succession. Yes, that's it, that's it_, he thought feverishly.

_"I originally intended to give a title to the Weasley Family, but unfortunately it seems like someone had, quite recently, assumed the headship of that line, which unfortunately leaves me with nothing to offer them, except for a few assets that will help them well in the long term and we have already discussed in private over those matters so it won't be covered in the will. Besides, I don't think Arthur and Molly would have cared about titles, as they have completely forsaken and forgotten the pureblood nature of the lines they were sprung from. Harry, don't curse me, please, I don't want to have you thinking ill of me for the rest of your life - you must understand me, it's for your own good. There are secrets about the Black line that will help you deal with your destiny. Use them well. It's an opportunity you cannot dismiss that easily. You'll understand why when you'll come to handling the reins of the Black line._

_"I hope that, even though I will no longer be with you, you will keep me in your memories alive and lively, as I wish I could remain to your hearts' eyes. Carpe diem. Harry, Tonks, Remus, let me go. Don't destroy yourselves over me. As long as you have the will to live you will have the ability to find happiness everywhere, even whilst waging war against an evil enemy. Men were given hands to change their world. So use them. Do your best. You were prisoners to what you did, and I was enslaved to what I was. Free yourself from your bounds and change the world around you. Shape it the way you want, for the best. If you have the will and the means, then you stand a good chance to make this world a better one. Just do me favor: play some pranks from time to time on Snape on my behalf. I wouldn't go away without leaving him my own version of a last farewell, would I? Harry, I expect you to be the one to carry out my wish. I hope it'll cheer you up._

_"Goodbye...my son."_

So ended the last message addressed to Harry by his godfather, concluding on an ultimate acknowledgement of what the ex-Marauder thought of Harry. The young wizard's vision became blurred as his grief finally overcame his inner defenses and tears brimmed in his eyes. _It is so unfair_, he wailed._ Sirius didn't deserve to die. He should have died old and happy, surrounded by friends. Not alone and so young..._ "Harry, get a hold of yourself," pleaded a stricken Remus, whose countenance was no better looking than the teenager's. Even Tonks lacked her usual merriness, thinking about her relative's last wishes. The darkness around the seven beings suddenly seemed to swell, threatening to swallow everything. The flicker of the torches sent shadows to dance over the walls, accentuating the dramatic ambiance. "We need to remain composed. We...we can mourn him back home...please," he whispered. Harry nodded weakly, fumbling for his slipping self-control. They needed to have this done with as soon as possible.

"Then so said, so decreed!" announced Digring and Baldvook, bowing their heads in respect of the late Black's last whishes. Ripbag remained silent for a moment, then spread his arms apart, as if beckoning the trio to come forward. "Would the three inheritors please come forth for the application of the Passing of Power Ritual?"

"Aye," replied Tonks and Remus, heads hanging low. Harry said the same and followed his companions to the desk, which conspicuously looked more like an altar than a simple piece of furniture with all the ceremonial atmosphere lingering in the chamber. _Sirius wanted me to be happy. Change the world with my hands, and find my happiness. Sirius..._Harry lamented silently, crunching his eyes in unspoken pain. _Goodbye, my son. _Remus' earlier statement reinforced the will's content. _You lost for the second time the closest thing to a father you had._ How true it was and Harry hadn't even realized the depth of that statement until much later. He had known Sirius as his godfather but not as a kin by blood - maybe a cousin, an older brother, an uncle, but not as a father. Such things were left silent but were obvious to the onlookers. True love, even among siblings, needn't be spoken, just conveyed by means beyond speech. The three individuals glumly gathered around the table, looking on with great solemnity, though theirs was unrivaled by that displayed by Ripbag. The elderly Goblin took one of the silver platters in his gnarled hands and held it high above his head, as if making an offering to an unknown deity. His voice rang through the Chamber, striking a chord in the hearkeners' hearts by the imperious tone it bore.

_"By blood purest and soul untainted,  
__Sacred flesh and blessed bone,  
__Last summons and final wishes,  
__Let the powers of the Elders come forth,  
__True and strong, never wavering,  
__To pass from hands old to new,  
__To serve masters sturdy and young,  
__For a world to keep unscathed,  
__And faithful to its heart,  
__As Time the Almighty comes and go,  
__In its everlasting dance,  
__And as the world is once again renewed,  
__By bloody war and unsullied peace,  
__Blazing wealth and distressing poverty,  
__Brightest day and darkest night,  
__Prized faithfulness and foulest __villainy,  
__Merriest life and sorrowful death.  
__Let the Will of the Departed  
__And past oaths be fulfilled  
__For the greater honor of the Elders!"_

Tonks and Remus then proclaimed, with finality ringing in their tone: "So be it."

As soon as the words finished echoing in the vast expanse, the air began thickening with agitation. Harry could feel a previously nonexistent wind picking up and billowing around, making his robes flap madly and his hair fly up. The silver plate Ripbag held tightly between his fingers started to glow then vibrate, as if coursing with sheer power. Eventually, electric bolts appeared on the object's rim, wildly dancing around without even seeming to hurt the Goblin's hands. Power crackled through the room as the dark walls vibrated under an unseen force, threatening to burst apart from the commotion. Harry could hear the air howling around, rippling with _cracks_ that reminded him of a raging thunderstorm. The walls glowed white for a moment, as the surge of energy reached its apex, donning the color of purity - the greatest honor the Elderblood held in their hearts. The surrounding settings changed for a second, adopting more joyous tones, changing from dead colors to hot, vivacious ones like cold switching heat and darkness reverting to light. Then, suddenly, springing from the center of the ornamental plate came a great flash that forced the onlookers to look away as the luminous glare picked in intensity, rivaling the midday sun. Then through the commotion, Harry heard the faint lyrics of a mysterious song, chanted by an unseen choir, growing strong and terrible - all while filling the wizard's ears with harsh-sounding words.

_O Fortuna,  
__Velut luna  
__Statu variabilis,  
__Se__mper crescis  
__A__ut decrescis;  
__V__ita detestabilis  
__N__unc obdurat  
__Et tunc curat  
__L__udo mentis aciem,  
__E__gestatem,  
__Potestatem  
__Dissolvit ut glaciem.  
__Sors immanis  
__Et inanis,  
__Rota tu volubilis,  
__Status malus,  
__V__ana salus  
__Semper dissolubilis,  
__Obumbrata  
__Et velata  
__M__ichi quoque niteris;  
__Nunc per ludum  
__D__orsum nudum  
__F__ero tui sceleris  
__Sors salutis  
__Et virtutis  
__M__ichi nunc contraria,  
__Est affectus  
__Et defectus  
__Semper in angaria.  
__Hac in hora  
__Sine mora  
__P__ulsum tangite;  
__Q__uod per sortem  
__Sternit fortem,  
__Mecum omnes plangite! _

The voices grew louder, catching an urging accent that made Harry's heart ache with a longing for action, a need to _do _something, to fulfill his destiny. As the 'choir' started the last line of the song, the young wizard's eyes glazed for a moment as his whole became caught in the moment. _Damn it, if people gave their money for the decorum, they sure didn't waste it for nothing! Even Buckingham Palace's interior must look like a homeless' shack compared to THIS!_

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, emerging from nowhere, the phenomenon ended, leaving three wizards looking on in awe and four Goblins to watch on with a fervent gleam in their dark eyes. Harry's ears were ringing, as they were no more used to the complete silence that had fallen on the Chamber, a change emphasized by the return in full force of stillness. For an instant, neither party - be it human or Goblin - moved, as their attention was still riveted on the Elder Solicitor who had still not shifted from his position to a normal one.

As if on cue, Ripbag then slowly and with great reverence lowered the plate to chest level before stepping forward, offering it to the unmoving trio. Harry's eyes widened as they fell upon the piece of chinaware and its contents, as mystifyingly, as if under the command of a higher being or all-powerful authority hiding beyond the walls of reality, inside the object were now set three fine pieces of jewelry, appeared from nowhere and glittering with pent-up energy.

Three rings.

* * *

Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, for the thirtieth time in five minutes, took his watch out of his waistcoat before cursing the heat that rendered his magical vision slightly fuzzy by hindering his ability to keep an eye on the surroundings. The scarred, retired Auror knew that everything would go down in less than twenty minutes and consequently wanted to get out of this area as soon as possible - so that he wouldn't have anything to explain to the Order when the situation would turn to chaos. He had, last night around a good bottle of Macallan, laid down his plan to Remus and Tonks, thoroughly devising all contingencies to prevent Dumbledore from making counterproductive steps. That part of their little plot had taken more than six hours to sort out and the bottom line was that everything would come down to timing. If Moody were to go to train Harry then he couldn't be suspected, since he, of all people, was imparted with magical sight, allowing him to watch everything, even through walls. As a senior, experienced member of the Order who always ranted on about constant vigilance, he wouldn't have any excuse for himself and that was to be avoided. He would immediately draw to himself Dumbledore's suspicions and sink the whole covert operation.

"Ten seconds - what the hell is that darned fellow Fletcher doing?" he growled, his gnarled face breaking into a forbidding scowl. "I must get back to headquarters as soon as possible before all hell breaks loose."

The children some houses away were still playing in their inflatable swimming pool and constantly making a great ruckus that started getting on Alastor Moody's nerves, all while adding to the building tension. The one-legged man paced to and fro, trying to get his mind clear and bracing himself for the next chapter of this day. "Come on, mate, what are you doing?" Surreptitiously, he glanced back at four, Privet Drive, directly staring at the two adults sitting in the living room and sipping a tea with smug expressions, as well as that wart of a son that kept playing on his game console on the floor above. No threats in that direction, he deemed before wiping his eyebrow with a bony hand. "Damn heat." He cast a Cooling Charm on himself to relieve his body of the physical pressure and returned to his growling. "'Wonder how Muggles can bear this heat without magic - must be a thorough miracle, that one is."

A sharp _crack_ from his left made the veteran Auror spin around, pointing his wand at the approximate source of the noise. _Death Eaters?_ he first thought, his instincts taking over his conscious. His eyes, magical and normal, fell instead on a panicked-looking Mundungus Fletcher, who was still as scruffy as he could be. The old, tramp-like Order member held his hands in the open, in token of peace, with an apologetic smile plastered on his face. "Aye, sorry, mate - I had an owl from that good fellow Otho Mendlebrock from Hamburg - brand new cauldrons, half-price, ya know? Couldn't pass that on, that was."

"Password," Moody ground, fingering his wand in anticipation and not caring for idle words.

"Hey, hey, keep your eye on, Mad-Eye. Skittles," replied Fletcher, waving his hands in alarm. Moody lowered his wand, shaking his head at Dumbledore's piteous choice for passwords. That man really could be ridiculous even in terrible times. But then...such words wouldn't be the first ones you'd think of - the reasoning was both logical and childish at the same time. "Still lurking 'round for your effing cauldrons, Dung?" he asked, looking around for any intruder. Fletcher, seeing his brother-in-arms lower his guard, relaxed a little and broke into a large smile. "Aye, right. That chap got meh a whole set of cauldrons straight from Germany, can yeh imagine it? With the export taxes 'round, half-price's a bargain I'll never stumble upon again in meh friggin' life!" he declared delightedly, his lips moistening at the thought. While Fletcher's dealings were highly questionable, his contacts within the wizarding world's lowest classes were inestimable for the Order, as they provided the secret organization with a clear insight of those shady places and people. "Especially if the Aurors catch you," shot back Moody. "You wouldn't want that, would you?" The dark wizard hunter within him begged to report the old smuggler to the authorities but it wasn't time for such pleasantries. War was coming.

"Nah, won't happen. I always cover meh back, Mad-Eye, and yeh know that like the two faces of a coin, right?"

"Indeed," begrudgingly admitted Moody, wondering what type of expression was that again. _Like the two faces of a coin?_ "Anyway, I'm leaving now. Keep an eye around and don't you dare go around to steal things from the Muggles," the old Ministry employee replied, before Apparating away without waiting for an answer.

Fletcher scratched the back of his head, slightly perplexed by his colleague's haste; but then, Alastor Mad-Eye Moody wasn't one to stay long in a potentially dangerous area in fear of increasing his risks of being attacked. "Well, tha' fellow was sure as rain in a hurry, I tell you," he said to no one. He blearily looked back at four, Privet Drive, seeing nothing too conspicuous and decided for a short walk around the street block. He looked at his tattered garments, wondering if a pair of pink polka-dot pants worn with a yellow, striped waistcoat was enough to stay unnoticed. He fingered the garment, before sighing. "I really need a bath."

And that, in less than twenty minutes, would be the last of his concerns.

* * *

The first ring, set in fine gold, was sporting a glowing emerald, while the second, wrought in pure platinum, was adorned with a large amethyst and the third, made of quality silver, had a yellow, shining sapphire. The bands were covered in precisely engraved runes, all of which symbolized protection spells bestowed upon the wearer - a very old and shadowy, near forgotten science once held high in esteem by the wizarding community before being washed away by the caprices of time. Those jewels weren't only the recipients of powers but also the unofficial scepters of families that considered themselves as royalty. The stones they bore, along with the material they were made of sufficed to convey the importance of their owners and pass the knowledge onto the mere mortals who were only deserved to grovel in the dirt before such magnificence and authority. While many lines created themselves seals and other emblems, along with their self-made fashion, jewelry was considered to be one of the most efficient way to show off in public. Many ladies of unfathomable fame wore necklaces made of diamonds and rubies while others wore shining tiaras and blazing diadems - all basking in the reverence of their admirers, loving the respect and bedazzlement they enticed from others. Slowly but surely a code of sorts built itself in the wizarding aristocracy, as the traditional combinations of material and precious stone became a means of identification. Symbols, mottos and coats of arms flourished in the same span of time, spreading deep and wide inside the world that high class reigned over. As the aristocracy slowly died, that line of fashion dwindled and jewels no longer held their erstwhile significance, reverting back to their original role as tokens of wealth and influence, that is, when they were not enchanted with powerful spells like a Strengthening or Invisibility Charm and so on. Then they would be more and more prized, before being used solely as tools instead of show-off paraphernalia.

Harry couldn't help but gape at the objects, taking in their splendor and unconsciously feeling the power they radiated. They seemed like wild beasts of a bygone era, held in check by stout chains and eagerly waiting to pounce on their new owners. Harry could hear Tonks mutter an awed "Springing skunks, how many Galleons must they be worth?" under her breath, whilst Remus stared at the plate with a mix of apprehension and dread. Ripbag, oblivious to their less-than-ecstatic state, took a step forwards, offering the plate at the werewolf. The graying man reached for the silver ring, before Ripbag resumed his part of the ritual.

"Dost thou, Remus Julianus Lupin, swear on thy blood and kin, before God and Devil, to abide by the laws of the High Ones and respect thy pledges, through sun and storm, sorrow and happiness, war and peace, till the end of thy time and the coming to power of thy designated successor?" Ripbag's voice carried an edge, as if daring Remus to refuse such an honor and taint the sanctity of the room. Such sacrileges wouldn't and couldn't be allowed in the name of the illustrious Elders, as long as those who were assigned to pass on the respect of the ways of old still lived.

The werewolf, to his credit, didn't react to the implied warning and bowed to the Goblin, choosing instead to hold his wand's tip to his heart and answer, in a loud and clear voice: _"Iureiuro!"_ before finally putting the ring around one of his digits. Remus' entire body then started to glow, just as Ripbag announced in a booming tone:

"Then by friendship and fealty, in the name of the Elders, in accordance to the will of one Lord Sirius Orion Black, late Heir and Head of the Most Noble House o Black, I name thou, Remus Julianus Lupin, today by thy leave and agreement, regent of Abhainn Moors and their owner, to rule over those lands with great honor and authority. Long may thou live, and stay true to thy commitments! May thou be gifted by wealth, health and force!"

The eerie glow ceased to exist just as the Goblin finished his sentence, revealing a worn-looking Remus, slightly panting but still looking fine. It seemed like the ring had taken some of his energy for a mysterious task, leaving his new owner slightly tired but obviously in good health.

Ripbag bowed in turn to the werewolf, his head hanging low in acknowledgement of the man's new title. Even if Remus was officially no earl, knight or duke, he still remained someone bestowed with great possessions and thus worthy of their respect. So were the rules of the Elder Goblins. Ripbag straightened up before turning towards the second attendant of the Ritual, a shimmering plateau in his hands.

"Miss Tonks," said Ripbag, presenting her the plateau. She took the platinum ring and, with shaky hands while silently begging her body not to drop the precious item and cause a major incident (which would get her not only decapitated, but disemboweled, dismembered, burnt to the bones, thrown through the window and so on), once again swore obedience and honesty to the Elders and set the jewel on her right hand's ring finger. As soon as the platinum entered in contact with her skin, her whole body, like Lupin's, began to shine like a light bulb, while her long hair started to drift, as if freed from the pull of gravity. Like dancing in the wind. _My God, Sirius...what did you pull me into?_ Harry thought, gazing at the glimmering metamorphmagus, entranced by the display. He had never heard of such ceremonies, not even in Professor Binns' class - mostly because he chose to sleep during those hours - and was definitely stupefied by their arcane nature. _If Hermione ever hears about my having witnessed such phenomena, she's going to have kittens for sure - not that Crookshanks would object, of course_, he absently thought, his whole attention drawn to his companion.

"Then by blood and bone, in the name of the Elders, in accordance to the will of one Lord Sirius Orion Black, late Heir and Head of the Most Noble House of Black, I name thou, Nymphadora Black-Tonks, today by thy leave and full agreement, Countess, Heir and Head of the Most Noble House of Terrington, to take the reins of that illustrious bloodline and guide it towards a new eon of wealth and success. Long, healthy and strong may thou live, and stay true to thy commitments, oath and rules of the Elders. I also hereby name thou member of the Elderblood Clan, most noble house of all. As such, I hand thou over thy title and thy new office. But beware! for those who art of the purest lines art those who remain faithful to the Clan and its allegiances. Remain loyal to thy heart and thy soul, as long as thou live!"

The plate shimmered once again, the material simmering in a sea of ancient, raw magic. Ripbag bowed low for the umpteenth time, acknowledging her new status too. A new Elderblood Lady had been named and she therefore deserved utmost respect and consideration from Gringotts' part. Any fault from the Elder Goblins could easily be considered as an insult according to their own standards, and their kind did not suffer their honor to bear a single stain. Death was the only way to remove that disgrace and ensure that their descendents would live long without suffering any prejudice from the past. Many lines' future had been poisoned through that way, be it either wizard or Goblin.

Elder Ripbag looked with solemnity at Harry while presenting the wizard the emerald-adorned ring and bowing one last time. _He will have one hell of a lumbago tonight. I hope they have their own Goblin Thai masseurs_,the teenager thought wryly, trying to find some humor in a situation that held none. Harry picked up the jewel from its recipient and, with an unsure hand, fit it on his right ring finger.

What happened next was completely unexpected as well as shocking, more so for Harry who witnessed and experienced it firsthand. Pain coursed through the young man's body, as if provoked by a Cruciatus Curse. It seemed like white-hot metal rods had been inserted in his innards, burning him from the inside, harassing the nerves to the point of destruction and threatening to break his nervous barriers. His brains exploded in agony as the feeling escalated to a maddening level, causing the wizard to lose control over himself. Harry collapsed on his knees as his torso pitched forwards, slowly falling towards the ground. His mouth sprung open and a deafening, bloodcurdling scream was let loose, conveying to his companions the ordeal he was going through. His hurt filled his unarticulated screaming, as his limbs trashed around, trying to get rid of the invisible torturer that kept on tormenting him to the verge of insanity.

He felt nothing, but a sea of white pain, making his skin feel like bursting open and pouring forth large streams of blood, though not yielding.

That was when Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, finally fell into the soothing arms of oblivion, just as his two companions scrambled at his side to help, leaving four completely terrified Goblins staring at them, frozen in place. The last thing he saw was the panicked face of Lupin, screaming something at him, but he knew no more after that.

The abyss swallowed him whole.

* * *

"And then I told him, the idiot, to ask for a pay rise the next time he saw the head accountant. Grunnings should really engage more competent people that have at least decency and some ambition! Those ruddy, worthless employees that swarm through the company today have no goals at all, no will to rise through the echelons of the company, which is the purpose of every reasonable people in this world!" loudly complained Vernon Dursley, setting his tea mug on the table with a little too much force. Yet, no one could blame his excitation as today had been a good day so far. The bloody freak they had to momentarily consider as their nephew was gone for good and that new development had announced a lot of favorable changes for them. Dudley would be able to store his toys in the newly vacated room, Vernon could once again speak freely in his own household and walk around without the fear of encountering a wizard or witch, Petunia would no longer have to sniff when passing in front of their...relative and cook for him...and so on, and so on... Luckily, they had asked that..._freak_...to do his own chores - how belittling it would be for the perfect Dursleys, to do Harry-bloody-Potter's own worthless work!

"I totally agree with you, Vernon dear," haughtily agreed Petunia, looking through the window at the neighborhood as if accusing them of some unknown, unfathomable crime. "People nowadays have no ambition at all! Absolutely scandalous!" Her husband flushed as his wife's flattery swelled his ego; he didn't like being contradicted and for the first time in fifteen years, everybody in his home agreed with him. What a memorable day it was. "Like the Fillibers, at number eight - look at them! Their son is a sales clerk in some clothes shop downtown - even though he could have easily become an engineer or an executive in the ministry! How the Fillibers can allow such a degradation is beyond my understanding," she sniffed, reveling in her own superiority complex. "Our Dudders, however, does not risk such a shameful fate!" she added, her horse-like face breaking in a proud, watery smile. Vernon vigorously showed his agreement and voiced it with the same vehement tone. "Dudley will probably have my job in the future, when I'll decide to retire - he'll do us honor, I tell you, Petunia dear," he boasted, with a proud grin, a declaration that elicited tears of happiness from his wife. Vernon poured himself another cup of tea, savoring the ecstasy he was now freely experiencing. Life couldn't be any better. Looking around him, he took in the immaculate state of the living room - no speck of dirt at all! Dudley was upstairs playing on his PlayStation, killing some monsters in a nameless game, and trouble was nowhere in sight...well, not anymore ever since the _freak_ wasn't in the surroundings anymore. _A pity we cannot make the government make this day a holiday in celebration - ungrateful dunderheads!_ thought the beefy man.

_Normalcy is about to return in full power in four, Privet Drive_, he silently proclaimed.

How wrong he was.

Just as he was gulping the content of his cup down his throat, a loud screech rose from the walls, making the house's occupants start in surprise and fear. "WHAT THE PETUNIAAAA!" Vernon screamed, tea spurting from his wide, fat mouth. Chinaware started to rattle before noisily exploding, setting the air alive with flying shrapnel. Books fell from their cases, and papers began to fly away, borne on an unfelt wind, like a flock of birds gathering for a great migration. Chairs were knocked over and tables broke asunder, some of them even instantly turning into sawdust in a dangerous game of havoc and chaos. Wallpaper started to peel off from their support, falling in heaps onto the ground, just as small bits of plaster fell from the ceiling. Cutlery and little items were rebounding off the walls, like sharpened Bludgers, adding destruction to the increasing ruin. "VERNON, HELP MEEEE!" Bolts of electricity appeared everywhere, short-circuiting multiple contraptions here and there. In the living room, the television imploded with a loud pop, sending Aunt Petunia into hysterics and a panicking Vernon Dursley into the throes of madness. In Dudley's room, the computer screen suffered the same fate as the TV, much to the terror of the fat, whale-like teenager, who began squealing loudly. "MUUUUUM!"

Then, to the growing horror of the three onlookers, _fire_ sprung from the ground, lit by an unseen furnace, spreading fast. Upstairs, Dudley yelped as he saw the dark flames appear out of nowhere, licking his sneakers. "MUUUUUM! I'M BURNIIING!" He pushed himself off the floor and sprung to his feet, clearly terrified to end his life as a barbecue meal. He ran out of his room, knocking vases and pieces of furniture all way long, before roughly tumbling down the staircase, falling, spread-eagled, with a thunderous _boom _in front of his two parents who were just vacating the living room. "MUM!" he wailed, fat tears rolling down his huge cheeks, eliciting a pathetic "DUDDERS!" from his mother and a positively terrified "SOMEBODY HELP US! HEEEEEEEELLLPPPPP! CALL SOMEONE, THE POLICE, THE ARMY!" from his white-faced father. All while trying to dodge airborne items that constantly tried to pelt them with a vengeance and avoiding the beginnings of a churning inferno, the trio made its way towards the front door, coughing violently as greasy smoke gathered around them like a gale of sorts, threatening to set their lungs aflame.

They finally found themselves bursting out in their garden, in the arms of a few neighbors that had come to contain the fire and see whether someone was left in the now burning house. The three denizens of four, Privet Drive collapsed on the ground, choking violently and trying to clear their eyes from their dirt-filled tears. A pitiful wail from his wife made Vernon Dursley look behind him, trying to see what had made his beloved Petunia so upset. He was so shocked from the sudden, unbelievable turn of events that his own biased mind couldn't correctly kick into gear. He and his family had just missed death by a scant hair and were still trying to come to grips with reality. He didn't think at all about the humiliation he had been given with his current state, appearing soot-covered, completely panicked and tear-covered in front of his neighbors, all of which would then look at him with condescending pity and use him as gossip material afterwards. Normalcy, their ultimate goal and pride, had just been robbed from them in one great apotheosis of infamy and misfortune, just when they thought they had just been gifted with an unquestionable promise of happiness. Realization of their problems would dawn on the shaken family a little bit later but it wouldn't come at once and neither would it come whole. Vernon's head was still reeling from the shock and his daze would still hold on for a long time until he would finally understand the meaning of everything. But the question Vernon Dursley would have and could have asked himself at the moment was, _'how could heaven suddenly transform itself into hell?'_ Not that anybody would blame him for that queer-sounding interrogation, though as he had every right in the world to wonder about it.

Vernon Dursley's heart stopped for a second, as he stared at his own house, being consumed by high flames, drowning in a sea of ever-spreading, purple fire. He could actually see, like his mesmerized neighbors, geysers of green-colored energy kicking up skywards before falling downwards, like lava being thrown up by a miniature volcano. The once proud roof was no more but a pile of ashes disappearing under fountains of dark fumes, whilst the walls crackled with electricity and heat, smoldering brightly before crumbling to the ground in incandescent cascades of molten wood, plaster and stone. But what was most bewildering were the symbols.

All around the ruins of what once was four, Privet Drive - the household that once served as the home of one Harry Potter - swirled runes, gathering around symbols-filled rings that were spinning madly, before shooting rays of light everywhere like in a sci-fi movie. The pictograms flickered endlessly, like stroboscopes, ever changing colors, building links between them while relentlessly emitting the loud screech that had startled the Dursleys just before the whole phenomenon took place. To those who knew nothing of wizardry, it was nothing but the pure work of the devil.

To wizards and witches, the meaning of the scene was extremely obvious.

Magic was swirling around in a vortex of uncontrolled energy, its structure rapidly breaking down.

The blood wards set around the house were falling apart.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore bolted upright in his chair, as the wailing broke his office's once peaceful silence. The sound had originated from a small angel statue standing on his desk, a lone figure of bronze trying to take flight, wings swept aback and torso leaning forward. The symbolism behind the piece of furniture wasn't without irony, as many would have thought. It was the embodiment of freedom, of liberation. It represented Icarus, wearing wax-covered and manmade wings, trying to run away from the maze he and his father, Dedalus, had been thrown in by the Cretan king Minos, condemned to die by the hands of the bloodthirsty Minotaur. Hogwarts' 160 years old Headmaster had been writing a letter to his French counterpart, Headmistress Madame Maxime (entitled to the management of the Beauxbatons Academy), when the little figure opened its tiny mouth and started screaming, making the old man drop his quill and rise in alarm. After the customary second of shock had passed, the wizened wizard grabbed the object from its little pedestal and pointed his long wand at it, muttering the word "despair" in a worried tone.

The little piece - a disguised Portkey - glowed white for a moment and then both of them, figurine and man, disappeared from Hogwarts' Headmaster's Office in a whirl of colors.

In twelve, Grimmauld Place, things weren't going better. The new Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had for many months since the return to life of the dark lord Voldemort served as an operation base for the secret organization, sheltering many gatherings of witches and wizards fighting against the dark side in hope of creating a better world and rid it of all evils. Since the recent passing of its owner, the bustle that usually reigned inside had somewhat abated, even though the mansion's purpose had not ceased to exist along with the previous inhabitant. As it was under the Fidelius Charm and magically kept away from the Muggles' eyes, it provided an excellent safe place for the Light side and it would remain so until the end of the incoming battle. That afternoon, the few people lounging inside, waiting for orders and other pieces of news, thought that it would be once again an eventless day, to be spent without encountering any trouble. Routine. Even Mad-Eye Moody, who had returned a little bit early to check up on the Ministry for urgent matters, seemed quite relaxed, even though people couldn't make the differences between his various states of mind. Paranoia was as natural to him as flying for a bird. A second nature, in other words.

Yet, what wasn't expected was that a little jade statue - depicting a grim-looking gargoyle spreading its wings and clawing at the ground - would start roaring loudly, startling the Order members from their trivial occupations. One wizard even spilt his glass of Butterbeer on his robes in surprise and another fell from the couch he was reclining on. The imperious bellow of an alarmed Moody took them off their daze, cueing them on what had to be immediately done without a second thought. In less than twenty seconds, all living beings in Grimmauld Place had Apparated away, for an unknown location, but not before triggering another set of alarms, all spread around the country in other minor Order hideouts.

The Order of the Phoenix was now in full alert and its members had to face a worst case scenario.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the Ministry of Magic, the situation was close to utter chaos, but for other or similar reasons. In the Accidental Magic Oversight Office's headquarters, a bell had begun ringing like mad, making many employees spill their ink over their paperwork as they jumped from their chairs and others look wildly around for the source of the disturbance. A forty-year old man finally located it and gaped at the board riveted on the wall, not believing his eyes. It displayed every alarming display of magic in front of Muggles and provided the Aurors and the Magic Reversal Squad with the position of the incident, so that both forces would be able to Apparate at the location and Obliviate every non-magical individual wandering about. Underneath that piece of information stood a bar that resembled much a thermometer, which appraised the Ministry of the situation's gravity, the level of magic and the number of Muggles witnessing the events. Usually, most cases the Ministry employees had to deal with were careless Wizards and Witches who didn't bother to look around before performing a spell or accidental magic done by children and defunct artifacts whose enchantments were breaking apart. But this time, it was completely different.

A hundred and sixty-eight persons to Obliviate, and rising.

Level one magical activity - the highest in the indicator.

Level one gravity - damages in the surroundings.

The man shook his head before pointing at the board, motioning for his colleagues to look at the readings and watching their expressions turn from concern into bewilderment. Two minutes after, thirty wizards and witches were on their way to the location of the phenomenon, preparing themselves for a long, tedious work. None of them would come back before noon.

Three floors above, in the Section of Social Standards - an illustrious division of the Department of Social Data and Facts - a fifty-year old witch saw her desk erupt in flames as a new high importance folder appeared before her, clearly requiring her immediate attention and hereby rescinding all other tasks' priorities. Straightening herself and cursing her heart for its frailty, she grabbed the object and unsealed it with an irate flick of her wand. The disbelieving gasp that came five seconds later, however, was not something her friends at the department expected from her part. As they always had to deal with haughty purebloods and other pompous individuals who tried to use their wealth and social status to get their business and paperwork attended to before the others', they had managed to build within themselves a great deal of self-control. They had learnt to fend them off and make them wait their turn but there were indeed times where they were caught unawares and unprepared. Like now.

"Two new Elderbloods?"

A thirty-year old wizard, fresh from the Aurelius Chatterbole Wizarding Politics University, heard her awed whisper and started. _Two new Elderbloods? What the hell is going on? That class is nearly dead for all I know! _he thought, baffled by the news. Elderbloods were part an extremely secretive and isolated group whose lineage stretched back to the birth of wizardry. They had ever since the nineteenth century decided to go underground as the number of Muggleborns dramatically increased. In fact, it wasn't the consequence of the pureblood belief that ordered them to stay away from new blood, but rather an attempt to flee a society whose standards were degrading to a humiliating level. People forsook the ancient beliefs and customs, leaving but a few to keep the old traditions alive. The Elderbloods, surprisingly, didn't mingle or ally themselves with the purebloods, as a feud grew strong and deep between the two classes. For those layers of the wizarding world, purity of blood was a must and many went to great lengths to prove their worth. The attitude of those smug individuals had elicited from the Elderbloods a strong sense of dislike followed by resentment, as they tried to grope at positions highly situated in the pyramid of power. Elderbloods were literally the brains of the magical world and didn't, for many obvious reasons, want to share their power with the lower classes. Eventually, the Elderbloods left the Ministry, retreating into their manors and great halls and relishing the wealth they had accumulated over centuries. Of course, their power still maintained its grasp upon the government, but it worked in a different way...more indirectly. The Elderbloods eventually split up as their clan dwindled - they formed groups, some of which could be compared to the famous Illuminati, as they were seduced by that sect's strong fondness for traditions. From political influence they switched to an economical one. As of now, the few Elderbloods still living held many shares in equally numerous companies, all of which highly successful and providing high amounts of revenue. Those families' income wouldn't decrease until a very long time. But what fascinated the other wizards was the flamboyance that very select group displayed. They had built castles and palaces, basilicas and mausoleums of great fame...enough to make people wonder about the amount of gold those monuments must have cost. Even the purebloods had to admit their inferiority before that caste as they couldn't compete against them in matters of money and power. Their meager mansions were nothing compared to the buildings and landmarks the Elderbloods erected over time.

Nobody had heard anything from them for a whole century. More pressing matters like Grindelwald and lastly Voldemort had taken the society's attention off the Elderbloods, towards a battle that tore bloodlines apart and ruined many communities. Eventually the world nearly completely forgot about them, except for the higher classes and those who had secured a prominent position within the Ministry. But the few who knew about the Elderbloods knew also that the members of that clan were practically royalty and that they could sway the Wizengamot just by a movement of their finger. The belief that they meddled with dark magic was still not dead and that was the main reason why many witches and wizards feared them.

The man surreptitiously took a pencil and a sheet of parchment before jotting a few notes on it, cautiously gazing at the woman over her shoulder, taking care not to rouse his colleagues' attention. His indiscretion and infringement of the privacy laws could very well cost him his job and make him bear, for the rest of his life, an inerasable stain in his curriculum vitae. Not to mention a note about his staying at Azkaban for a while. Ever since Voldemort came back to full power, an extra set of surveillance had been added on the Ministry workers, as the previous reign of the ark Lord had been marked with intelligence lapses that had proven fatal to many a witch or wizard. Some Death Eaters even used the gained information to impersonate those individuals, through either the Polyjuice Potion or metamorphmagus skills. If he ever got caught...it was better not to think of that eventuality, as times were too dark to even add more to the list. All while feverishly copying, his eyes widened as he took in the papers' contents, not believing what he was reading. His fingers tightened sharply as he thought of the development's implications for his private life.

_Burping ballerinas! That information must be worth two thousand Galleons grand!_

His hand started scribbling maddeningly over his letter as he thought of the money the Daily Prophet would give him for that piece of news. _Maybe I could get two weeks off at the Bahamas. No, scratch that, Zanzibar sounds better. How about New Guinea? Sounds a winner to me!_ As he ended his message with a large artistic loop of his quill, he briskly stood up from his chair, hastened away from the room and ran towards the Ministry's owlery, where he chose a nondescript bird and tied the letter to its leg, before sending the animal off through a warded window.

_And Tahiti looked soooo scandalously exotic it should be forbidden by the Wizengamot!_

What he didn't know was that he had just done a wrong move - as his office would be swamped with reporters for the next two weeks, preventing him from going to his much-wanted vacation. Of course, he couldn't have foreseen that scenario as his fingers eagerly released the owl and stayed there, dreaming about wild adventures in tropical countries and anticipating the relaxation he would experience. Not at all.

* * *

There was nothing but darkness.

He was floating in a world of nothingness, feeling absolutely nothing. His whole body was unresponsive, as if someone had deprived him from his five senses. Taste, hearing, smell, touch, sight...all were silent. He had no stimuli. Only conscience remained in place, even though it was quite illogical to be conscious yet to experience no feeling at all. _Am I dead? Is that it? Is it finally over? Nothing to worry about anymore? Can I finally rest in peace, till the end of Time? _He felt like drifting in a great sea of blackness, enjoying the strange sensation while it lasted, living for the first time in a universe where he didn't have to worry and to fight for his own life. He was finally at peace.

Then, like a wind silently picking up, he heard whispers come to him, growing in intensity. He couldn't make out the words as the conversation - if it was indeed one - was still too remote for him to hear but he nonetheless felt the agitated tone the talkers bore. _What's happening? What're they saying? Hello? Blistering barnacles, can't they hear me? HELLO? Hermione? Ron? Remus? Tonks? SIRIUS? HELLO? _Silence answered him, mocking his panic.

Harry's mind, as soon as it felt the voices talking around, undertook a desperate attempt to shake off the state he, the Boy-Who-Lived, was currently drowning in. But how did you make a body obey when it didn't even acknowledge your confused orders? So was the ordeal Harry Potter was facing, much to his growing distress. An ocean of unfelt pain...that was where he actually was, Harry thought, imagining his body 'drift' inside the confines of this dark universe, floating to an unknown destination. That was when he heard again the voices. At first, he thought that they were nothing but the figments of his own imagination working furiously to assess the situation...but as seconds ticked by and the sound didn't back down, he became certain of their existence. Their reality. They seemed like the garbled static of a defunct radio, with near-inaudible words fading into nothingness, before returning back with slightly more force and again receding into a persistent silence. The fuzzy conversation seemed to slip away from his diminished consciousness before coming back close to his grasp, almost tauntingly, like waves washing over and back away from an abandoned beach. _Try again! Try again!_

Agitation swirled around him, even though he couldn't sense it. The notion just came to him, as if glaringly obvious. Then...

_I AM TRYING, TONKS! I AM TRYING!_

Tonks? thought Harry. Is she here? But where?

_Do it, he's barely breathing, damn it!_

_Stand aside, then! I'll try to..._

_Stop darn talking, Remus, and do it!_

Remus? What's going on? Where am I? Where are you?

_Enervate._

_Enervate!_

_ENERVATE!_

The last order had been shouted, Harry realized, as he suddenly felt his body springing back to life, feelings returning to his dazed brain like a tsunami destroying everything in its path. The change was so brutal that he could feel his head spinning as his eyelids slowly opened, letting feeble rays of light pass through his dilated pupils. His chest seemed oddly constricted and his arms fared no better - as if something was squeezing the life out of them. "HARRY!" The female shriek caused him to wince, as it hammered his eardrums inwards. It seemed like she had cast a Sonorus Charm on herself and bellowed straight into his ears...which was quite the truth as he realized that he was half-lying on the ground, wrapped in the metamorphmagus' arms. Tonks was sitting on the floor, holding him tight to herself, trying desperately to revive the fallen wizard. Harry falling to the ground after putting the ring on his finger and screaming his soul out had scared her out of her mind as much as it had horrified Remus. They both had tried to lessen their protégé's pain by casting an Insensibility Charm on him, but their attempts had all gone to no avail as Harry kept on desperately trashing on the cold tile, still in the throes of a tonic attack. Their combined Healing Charms had even less success as they dissipated into thin air just as they entered in contact with the maelstrom of colors that swirled around Harry's body. Their magic was being canceled by that mysterious force field that shrouded the Boy-Who-Lived, like a demonic mantle and the Goblins were too petrified to assist them and didn't make a single move until Lupin had actually tried the Reanimation Spell on the unconscious wizard.

"HARRY! Are you okay? Can you hear me? Please, Harry..." she sobbed, her ravaged, tear-streaked face coming in the awakening wizard's line of sight. She was nearly hysterical, her fingers digging into his shoulders at a painful level. The way she hugged him, as if to convince herself that he was indeed still alive and well, was slowly but surely becoming a danger to his breathing abilities. Remus looked no better, sporting an ashen face and tightened knuckles, bending over his two companions, trying to see how Harry was. His eyes were slightly unfocused, the result of unbridled panic - a strange sight for someone who knew the composed but inwardly miserable werewolf - and on top of it all, Remus' whole body was shaking. Harry tried to answer Tonks' question but he only got a croak out, much to his own surprise. "Let him go, Tonks, you're squeezing his lungs," ordered Remus, clasping his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Don't speak! You've been screaming your head out - your throat must be too sore for you to speak adequately," he explained, as Tonks gave the teenager a last hug before helping him to his feet, her arms slipping under his own armpits and holding him upwards. The Goblins' faces were drained of all color and the four of them were standing a bit away from the trio, as if embarrassed by the situation. Harry could sense the uneasiness in the air but he paid no heed to the creatures' discomfort. His mind was elsewhere, roaming around his sudden torture. He weakly tugged at his own collar, trying to facilitate his breathing but didn't manage to ease the buttons out of their sockets. Tonks eventually assisted him in his endeavor before dragging him back to his seat, where he dropped like a stone, exhaustion overcoming him. As he drew in deep breaths to qualm his fevered mind, he tried moving his limbs around to get their feel back in. He eventually succeeded but he still felt a bit sore whilst still like under anesthesia - completely numb. His hand then proceeded to deny that idea as it suddenly grew hot. Harry hissed in pain and his eyes darted to his hurting appendage, falling on a glowing, iridescent-looking ring.

"The ring..." he breathed, his eyes narrowing at the jewel.

That muttered sentence was all it took for a shamefaced Ripbag to get out of his self-imposed silence, taking a step forward with his head hung low. "I think I must offer you deepest and most sincere apologies, Lord Potter," he declared in a low, subdued tone. Harry didn't notice the Goblin using for the first time his new title as stared at the jewel, mesmerized by the display of colors it gave. 'Enthralling' was a more appropriate word to describe the effect it had on the wearied wizard; he couldn't get his gaze off the piece of gold, taking in the power it radiated. "I didn't expect your aura to react that violently to the Inheritance Spell and I would like to apologize in the name of Gringotts Bank for the...discomfort the Ceremony gave you." Ripbag then bowed deeply before taking at step back, still bearing his humility-filled demeanor. All smugness and looks of importance had been taken from him in the vilest way possible according to the Goblins' opinion. Obviously the Senior Solicitor had taken the incident as the consequence of an eventual mistake from his part and blamed himself for it. Harry grunted in acknowledgement, and waved a shaky hand at him, in a dismissing manner. "I think he wants to say that it is of no importance and that no consequence will be held against you," translated Remus, who knew him quite well. Harry was very easy to predict once you got to acquaint yourself with him, and third year's Patronus lessons were enough for the werewolf to analyze the young wizard. Sirius' death had undoubtedly changed a few things here and there - he still didn't know the extent of the psychological evolution - but deep inside he remained true to his old self. The true Harry. "You couldn't have predicted that accident and neither could we," pressed on Remus, favoring another approach over blame, that of soothing diplomacy. "There is no need to hold Gringotts as the sole 'culprit' of this. You couldn't have known his magic would have reacted that way," he explained further, seeing the Senior Elderblood Solicitor's figure loose a bit of its stiffness and regain some of his lost composure. "And as much as I am ashamed to admit it, I couldn't have either."

Harry croaked again, trying to tell Remus that it wasn't his fault, before Tonks' hand landed on his shoulder, urging him to shut up and let their companion bridge the ravine that had regretfully sprung to existence between the two parties. "Harry - don't. Just - don't," she pleaded, wiping her tears away. Harry nodded numbly, trying to regain his strength and leaving his friends take over his business. He squeezed his eyelids shut as his body strained to get the pain out and exorcize whatever demon had taken hold of him. In the background, he could hear Remus talking in a muffled voice to the four Goblins, trying to salvage whatever remained of the ruined ceremony and raise their downcast spirits. "I think it is in our best interest to postpone for a few minutes the remainder of the ritual. Lord Potter isn't obviously able to proceed further, especially for the Blood Purity part." Harry's mind stepped back in silent amusement as he heard Remus struggle with saying his new title, obviously not used to call him like that. To Remus, Harry was just...Harry. Nothing more, nothing less. Not a Lord that strutted around dressed in rich robes and with shining jewels hanging around the neck as if trying to serve as Great Britain's newest lighthouse. He would leave that to the Malfoys, as they would be delighted to carry out such a 'glorifying' mission, even though Malfoy Sr. was now locked deep within Azkaban and his son sulking around and thinking about ways to repay Harry Potter for that unforgivable insult.

"I...understand, sir. But...in a thousand years never did such an incident occur in our midst. It is something completely unheard of. Would His Lordship be able, nonetheless, to finish the Ceremony or should we call it a day?" he questioned, his dark eyes darting to the seated wizard, hopefully appraising his state but finding no sign of encouragement.

"I think he will be able to perform the Ceremony," Remus assured, holding a hand up to quell the Goblins' fears. "He's just...exhausted at the moment. As you said, it was just his magic badly reacting with another one. As they are both of ancient nature, the conflict was inevitable and rather...painful."

"What an understatement, Sir Remus! I've never seen such pain bestowed upon a single being!" answered a shaken Digring, breaking out of his customary silence and speaking for the first time in Harry's recollection of the day. "But would there be interferences for the next parts?" the Goblin pressed on, searching for reassurance while trying to keep his dignity intact. Begging was a degrading behavior and no one would ever see a member of that prideful species ever resort to that tactic to see his wishes fulfilled.

"I know of the Blood Purity Ritual, but unless I'm mistaken, the rest of the ceremony just covers the reading of the bequeathed assets; am I wrong in that assumption?" Remus asked, stroking his chin.

"No, Sir," confirmed Baldvook. "You were correctly informed and I'm most impressed with your knowledge of Elderblood lore and customs. But His Lordship will need to seal the Inheritance Spell by giving us his agreement," he pointed out, stressing the last word. "But since it seems that his voice..."

"Leave Lord Potter a moment of respite, mister Ripbag," interrupted Remus, trying to get things clear for the last time. He needed to have this ceremony be over with as soon as possible and even if it ashamed him to admit it, Harry's ordeal provided him with a chance to cut the ritual's length shorter. "His Lordship will eventually perform the ritual, but his well-being supersedes our problems and concerns at the moment. It would do a great deal of harm to Gringotts should it be made public that an Elderblood had been hurt by Goblins when that accident could have easily been avoided," the ex-teacher suggested with a apologetic face, noticing the Goblin flinch in horror. "The Elderbloods are now very few but I know that Gringotts is bound to them by many oaths and enchantments. It would only do you honor to help His Lordship recover fully and allow him to finish the Ritual a little bit later," Remus added, trying to calm the Goblins before they lost their mind. Senior Goblins were extremely harsh went it came to make people respect rules and traditions, but when they could be held either as culprits of a crime or the cause of a great harm, all their defenses fell. However, that state of mind wasn't easily reached, as Goblins were very wary of their actions and thought about them beforehand. They had their best interests in their mind, but the pledges they had taken centuries ago forced them to cater to wizards' and witches' needs too, a situation that could only be described as favorable grounds for dilemmas and trouble.

"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Tonks as she checked the wizard over all while casting a couple of Strengthening spells to lessen the pain. Harry nodded hastily, trying to recover his lost strength. _So much for my bloody training_, Harry grumbled inwardly._ I spent two months lifting weights, doing jogging, working out...and here I am blasted all over the place because of a single spell. Notice the irony: I'm not about to be killed by Lord Moldy Warts but by a spell by Goblins that were supposed to give me an aristocratic title! _"Mmh...hh...I...I'm...okay," he got out, straining to pronounce the words, his vocal chords still not correctly responding to his brains' confused orders. Tonks smiled weakly, before touching Harry's forehead. "Does the rune hurt?"

"...R...rune?" the teenager asked, not knowing one bit what the metamorphmagus was talking about.

"Yes, the rune," she repeated, frowning. "Don't you feel it? You've got a rune on your forehead," she finished, pointing a finger to his forehead, somewhere near his accursed, bolt-shaped scar.

Harry's eyes shot wide open as he slapped his hand on his head, trying to feel something standing out of place. Of course, as he couldn't sense it, he found nothing. Tonks then conjured a mirror with her wand and held it in front of Harry's face, showing him his tired figure. The Boy-Who-Lived's eyes then fell upon a most surprising symbol etched onto his very skin, two centimeters above the eyebrows. It looked like an inverted triangle, surrounded by what looked like bramble branches but were in fact tribal pictograms. Inside the three-pointed polygon was a single, complicated-looking rune. Harry held a hand on his forehead, trying to erase the drawing but accomplishing nothing worthy of note.

"What..."

"I think I can help you, your Lordship," cut in Elder Baldvook, breaking the wizard from his dazed state. Ripbag didn't object to that new infringement of Elder laws, thinking that he was in too much trouble to say anything else and try to maintain a semblance of decorum without highlighting the previous infractions. He had, after all, an honor to _regain_, not one to _lose completely_. Baldvook was stocky and constantly held gold-rimmed spectacles in front of his eyes. For some reason, Harry assimilated him to a librarian as the Goblin looked too much like the Muggle stereotype. _Educated and stern. Knowledgeable. _"From what I see...yes...yes," he mused, looking at Harry's face, his beady eyes narrowing in concentration. "Well, your Lordship," he spoke out after a moment of perusal, "It seems that you have been gifted with three different magical runes, all of which appear to be fused together into a single symbol," he explained, looking at the new Lord straight in the eyes as if meaning, _no bullshit with me - you deal with it_. Harry became slightly uneasy under the hard gaze but his self-control finally kicked in, preventing him from backing down. "The left corner of the pictogram looks like the rune for 'power'. _Ilfáz. _The center is the one for...'protection' or, to an extent, 'preservation'. _Lôkim._ And the right side...hmmm...tricky one..." he said, frowning deeply and bearing his fangs, unconsciously showing his deep thinking. Tonks looked a bit unnerved by the Goblin's fascination, which strangely seemed out of place, with the other three creatures still mulling over their dishonor.

Remus then voiced everyone's interrogation, as the two other wizards weren't very versed in that language. Maybe Hermione could have helped them, Harry thought, but she wasn't here this afternoon and he had no time to ask for her assistance in that matter. No need to bring more people in a sinking boat. "Why?"

Baldvook looked up at the question and scowled in annoyance. "Well, to be truthful, the symbol can be mistaken for two different words. Or a third one, which has two meanings. The two different terms are 'fate', _terad_, and 'hope', _neshtar_. The two last meanings are 'lightning', _ürbeck_, and 'storm', _seldjem_. As you might know, runes were once used by warlocks to cast spells that could last a very long time - actually, warped versions of enchantments. Stonehenge, for instance, is covered in ancient enchantments that date back to the sixth century before Christ and that are still active as of today. Carnac, in France, is subjected to the same phenomenon as well as some areas in Germany, Switzerland and northern Italy. Nobody knows how to perform rune-spelling nowadays as the lore has been lost save for a few Elderblood families," he said, looking at Tonks and Harry, subtly telling them that he was relinquishing the matter in their own hands as he was stepping into an unknown and forbidden territory. "...But runes are commonly used, as strange as it sounds," he corrected with a raised finger, before adding a new nuance. "Unconsciously. Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries, when they research new spells or try to deepen their knowledge in a special field of wizardry, break down the analyzed magic to their very core. The magic is in fact translated into _runes_, which are then read so that everybody can understand how the spell is woven or how it works. But rare are those who can correctly interpret runes today. For all we know, those strings of runes are like a list of orders written in a foreign language, which still must be deciphered before being thoroughly analyzed."

"I think I understand some of the runes," cut in Remus, voicing his understanding as well as his restlessness. "Their meaning is rather obvious to us, but we would like to keep it secret for a while." Baldvook nodded before returning back to the shadows, his time for input done with.

Harry frowned as he heard Remus' statement - he didn't understand what had happened, contrarily to what his friend had admitted, and wanted to know more but a short glance from the werewolf silenced his question, killing it on the teenager's lips before it came out. "Are you okay, Harry?" The Goblins looked slightly scandalized at Remus' use of Harry's first name, knowing the difference of status between the two of them. For Tonks and Harry it didn't matter much but the Goblins took it as a point of honor to address Elderbloods by their given ranks and not by familiar names or nicknames, even at the individuals' bidding. Harry ignored the indignant looks from the Goblins and nodded affirmatively. "Are you ready for the last part?"

"Yes," he confirmed, making an effort to stand his ground against his rampaging exhaustion.

Remus smiled in answer. "Right, then." He turned towards the four creatures standing behind him and gave them a small nod before coming back towards Tonks and Harry. The Goblins retrieved their respective positions behind the desk, shuffling nervously and trying to slap back a look of importance upon their faces. The procedures had not gone as they wanted them to and that turn of events was certainly reason enough to be crossed or ashamed. Remus sat down on his chair, keeping a weary eye on Harry, ready to help his surrogate godson should he feel faint or unwell. Tonks, for her part, kept glancing from her 'relative' to the Goblins, trying to keep her behavior acceptable. Ignoring the Gringotts employees would be an insult but she deemed Harry's health more important than that. As she was a Ministry employee, soon-to-be Elderblood member, she had to keep appearances up. As for Harry...well, he wasn't in shape enough to keep himself 'decent-looking' enough but the Goblins understood the problem and let it slip as a silent apology for the pain the wizard had to endure. Ripbag coughed twice, trying to get the words out.

"As...as the Passing of Power Ritual has been...successfully performed in accordance to the late Lord Black's wishes, we are now going to read the actual will of His Passed Lordship and announce the redistribution of the Black's assets to the designated heirs. Included in the inheritance are also major shares of what is called the Blackland Trust, a concentration of many small companies and other firms, all of which were founded with the help of the Most Noble House of Black's investments in specific parts of the world market. The management of these enterprises, however, had become independent from the Black Line a few years ago as the late Heads of House didn't wish to spend their time peering over paperwork and counting Galleons. That task is left to the companies' managers but the annual revenue they gain from their economic activity is deposited in the Black Family Vaults deep within Gringotts. The accountancy is managed by our services, of course," pointed out Ripbag, trying to re-put some shine on the bank's coat of arms.

"The _incoming_ amount of money, as a side note, eventually erases the _expenses_ the family members make over the years, keeping the Black fortune intact in the end. The Trust, even though independent, still allows the House of Black to give its advice and opinion over future market operations as a privilege given to those who have contributed to the Trust's existence by either investing, counseling or just by ownership of a significant part of Blackland shares. His Late Lordship had asked us here to convert the Trust's assets into its theoretical monetary value so as to give the concerned inheritors of what it they are worth, should they feel the need or the want to sell the assets to other people and keep the gained money instead. In the inventory of the said assets are included houses, machines and devices needed for the aforementioned firms' production and lease of services, and so on.

"All assets and other items will be directly passed onto you the moment you give your agreement to receive the inheritance. You have the right to refuse your share, but you will have to voice your disagreement now, lest your chance to not take hold of your inheritance pass away forever." Ripbag looked at the trio and saw them staring resolutely back. Satisfied with their silence, the Senior Goblin took the piece of parchment he had been reading earlier, scanned the contents and found whatever he was searching for. Sensing his authority coming back full-force, he increased his voice level.

"Then please hearken unto me as I recite the Will of His Lordship.

_"I, Sirius Orion Black, Lord of the Most Noble House of Black,_

_"To Remus Julianus Lupin, friend, comrade and brother, I bequeath the sum of thirty million Galleons, along with some items from our childhood so that you can remember me as I want you to, at the apex of my youth. That sum will be stored in Vaults Thirteen and Fourteen and will be available at all time, for you to use to your own liking. I also give you the lands of Abhainn Moors near Inverness, Scotland, for you to dwell in. The Abhainn Inns still stand up and will be your new home, as I know you were forced to stay away from our ungrateful world because of your unfortunate illness. The propriety is forty acres wide and I am sure you will appreciate the area as you have shown your fascination for Scottish landscapes. As Abhainn Moors are blessed with peacefulness you will find there your paradise. Finally, I bequeath to you two of the nine shares that make up the Blackland Trust's monetary and material assets so that they will provide you with enough annual revenue to keep your wealth afloat. Included in the shares are two proprieties, one in Wales and the other in London. Both are unplottable locations and will serve you as secondary residences if you need somewhere else to live in, should you travel around in Great Britain. Goodbye, my friend. I know that partings should never be long and heartbreaking but that's the only thing I can say to lessen your pain and not revive the hurt of my passing. Goodbye. Remember the many times we sneaked out of the dormitories to prepare pranks for the next day and how you adamantly tried to stop us. It is one of the many memories of that time that I cherish the most and I hope I could share it with you. Need I remind you the time we tried to make Snivellus dance the French Cancan, clad only in female underwear, in front of Prof. McGonagall? You should also remember that one, as it is one of my favorites._

_"To Nymphadora Tonks, cousin, blood and comrade-in-arms, I bequeath the sum of sixty-eight million Galleons, along with thirty other millions that should come from the sale of some minor objects and pieces of furniture I asked Gringotts to sell separately. The entire sum will be stored in Vaults Six, Seven and Eight, while the last addition will be dropped in Vault Nine to complete the circle. I also bequeath to you the Manor of Narrowdale, near Carlisle and the Argyle Halls, between Blackpool and Preston, along with the possessions and facilities inside. I think you will like the two houses, as they are near the sea and the area is quite pretty to behold. They are legally yours since you are of the Black Line and your family deserves to have some of their assets returned to them. Don't think of it as pity, Tonks, but as Justice finally fulfilled - that is why I took the precaution to welcome you back to the family at the beginning of the year - so that you could finally inherit. Finally, I bequeath to you three of the nine shares that make up the Blackland Trust's monetary and material assets to give you enough income for the rest of your lives. Living as an Auror won't help you survive - the wage is, as you know, completely ridiculous. Now that you have the wealth, show it to your colleagues. I think they'll finally shut up once they see what you got from me. Included in the shares are four properties, two of which are abroad. The first is a cottage in the Sussex, the second a small villa in the Wessex, the third a house in Australia and the fourth an inn in North Carolina, United States. My ancestors traveled a lot and that is how they got those properties. Make sure Harry and Remus take advantage of them as they would do the same for you with their own possessions, will you? Now, last but not least, the Terrington assets. I became the regent of the Terrington line a while ago when that line disappeared and now, I'm entrusting it to you. The inheritance is made of forty-three million Galleons, and two manors in Essex. The Vaults are numbers Thirty-four and Thirty-five. Unfortunately, the Terrington Works Trust no longer exists as its previous owner decided to convert the assets into its monetary value and dump the sum in his own Gringotts vault so there will be nothing from that side. Take care of it, though, Tonks, and farewell. You were my favorite cousin and will forever be. Don't forget it. And...don't trip on the stairs while exiting the room, though. Just a last piece of advice. I think it might help you._

_"And finally, to Harold James Potter, godson, friend, protégé and son, I bequeath the rough sum of ninety-seven million Galleons, along with forty-four other millions that are the fruits of the aforementioned sales of minor assets that I have judged unneeded and that had to be sold as soon as possible. That amount of money will be held in vaults Three, Four, Five, Ten and Eleven, which are the greatest of all in Gringotts. Harry, I know that I never told you about my being an Elderblood, but I hoped to put that heritage behind as soon as possible. I never behaved as an Elderblood and endeavored never to. I am sorry you are now reaping the fruits of my unsuccessful attempt. However, there are some things I think you will benefit from. You'll have to discover them by yourself, as they require a sharp mind and a love of challenges. When you'll find the items, you'll understand why I took that precaution of silence. It is a test, Harry, to see whether you're worthy or not. Of what, you'll know. Or not. What I'm talking about can not only be your salvation but also your damnation. Many of my ancestors died trying to tame the thing I'm talking about. It is like a monster that you must first locate then try to bridle before turning him into your battle steed. Good luck. But beware! Remind my words, Harry, with those items come power but also death and destruction. I wouldn't want to be the cause of your demise when the world around you needs you the most. Remind yourself about that. Now, I bequeath to you four of the nine shares that make up the Blackland Trust's monetary and material assets, so that money will keep flowing in and keep yourself quite comfortable for a time. Do not forget, however, to keep a distance between you and that wealth. Do not become what Malfoy turned into at the sound of the word 'money'. It is enticing but poisonous. I know what I am talking about, as I experienced it during my childhood, which was, as you know, less than happy and pretty to remember. With the shares come five residences, including twelve, Grimmauld Place, Shadowvale Castle, Etherhill Mansion, Lone Island, and Dragonclaw Estate. All are unplottable and will serve as homes for you who were homeless even though you were given a roof to sleep under. Make sure to send a picture of your new residences to the Dursleys, I'd like to see, from where I am, their faces when they'll receive it. Even in Heaven I'll need some fun to live with. A prankster remains a prankster...even in death. Included in the 'package' are also all items, possessions, facilities...well, everything you will find inside those buildings: pieces of furniture, books (try to give Hermione a visit of the area, will you?), et cetera. The Marauders' Map, my motorcycle, all my possessions are now yours as you are my heir as well as that of the Blacks. The last thing I want to give you is the key to everything. The ultimate password to unlock your destiny should it become your choice. Solicitor Ripbag will give you a second ring after the Ritual. The one who bears that jewel will be automatically recognized as the owner of those places, provided he or she performed the Passing of Power Ritual with the leave of the Goblins, who oversee such occurrences. I entrusted them with keeping the ring, as I now that their free willingness to give the item away will unseal the enchantment lying in the ring. If they don't release it of their own volition then it will become useless. As you see, I took a leaf out of Moody's book. Constant vigilance, indeed!"_ recited Ripbag, tugging at his collar, embarrassed by the letter's private content.

_"I know I should have given the Malfoys their share of the Black assets, but since they are clearly supporting Voldemort, I will bequeath to them nothing. Not until they finally recognize the errors of their past and make amends to those they hurt and insulted. If they do not revoke their allegiance to the dark side before the Dark Lord's passing, then all assets, nearly two million Galleons, will be equally divided into three parts and given to you, Remus, you, Tonks and you, Harry. I also forbid, should you three leave this world for one reason or another - though I hope not before a century, at least - the Goblins from giving the Malfoys and Lestranges your shares. If you are to disappear, then all will be given to the Elderblood Trust, an office that endeavors to keep the relicts of old times alive. Much like the curators of a museum, if you want."_ Baldvook nearly let out an expletive at the less-than-official comparison. Harry assumed that the reason behind the Goblin's behavior was the fact that Baldvook probably belonged to the Elderblood Trust.

_"To Dumbledore I bequeath nothing as a punishment for his not letting me come out of my own house. I have disagreed with him since a couple of months ago concerning his handling Harry and I consider the Headmaster's actions as an insult to my duties as a godfather towards my heir. However, I allow him to use twelve, Grimmauld Place, as long as he swears upon his life, magic and soul, to not confine my godson within either Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place, Privet Drive or whatever area he thinks. If he refuses to comply, then Grimmauld Place's ownership will be solely relinquished to Harold James Potter and all individuals currently occupying the property will be expelled by force, even if I need to posthumously call upon the Ministry to get the job done. A will is a will and I will suffer no one to contradict it."_ Ripbag, this time, along with his peers, seemed to fully agree with that statement. Harry could see the Goblins vigorously nodding in the darkness, as the statement fully conformed itself to the traditions. For once. Their acquiescence, however, was a little bit decreased in intensity by the mention of people stealing the freedom of an Elderblood. The Goblins' mood instantly darkened as they wondered how it could have been had they been in Sirius' stead. Needless to say, the thought wasn't pleasant to mull around.

_"I have now to depart from this world and the only words I can find the strength to say are just...'farewell'. Farewell, indeed, as a friend, as a brother, as a Marauder, as a student, as a man, as a godfather, as a mentor, as a cousin, as a relative...everything that I am. In my wholeness. As I said earlier, do not mourn me overmuch. Once you do, the barrier between the dead and the living becomes too thin for you to live properly in this world. I do not want you to follow me or lose your happiness over my passing. I am gone and you have still a long road to tread and a long life to live. Enjoy it. But I only ask for one thing, from all of you, and one other thing, this time from my godson._

_"My friends and kin, remember me as you knew me. That's the only thing I ask of you. Keep me alive inside you. For your sake. For my soul's. Just remember to put flowers upon my...grave, if there is one to be found. Pay the dead some respect like you would do for the living. They are always near you, no matter the circumstances. Whatever state you are in, I'll always be close, to help you get out of whatever pain you're suffering from or ordeal you're dealing with. I will be there, invisible but still there. When you'll feel a little breeze washing over you neck, you'll know that it will be me, breathing over your shoulders. When you'll hear a rustle of cloth or a floor creaking nearby, it will be again me, moving around to console you or just pay you a visit._

_"Harry, you already know what I'm going to say. You should have rehearsed it many times by now as I know you would be going to dread such a moment - not that I can blame you for it, though. I hope, however, that you'll find solace in the new world I've unwillingly thrown you into, for your own good. For your salvation. There's more to the Elderbloods than you think. Search for the hidden past and the extinguished flames and you'll find whatever you're seeking for. Do not _mourn_ me. _Celebrate_ me. _Remember_ me. But after that, Harry...promise me...no, swear to me that you will bring the Dark Lord down for good. If you do so and will be able to live afterwards to have a family of your own and taste the sweetness of happiness, then you can be sure _I_ will be happy, there, overhead, between the clouds, with your parents and those who have already left us. You will no longer have to worry for my opinion. I will be at peace. Forever._

_"If you're feeling down, just call my name and I'll be there for you. Always._

_"Farewell, my friends."_

As Ripbag closed his mouth and bowed in respect, Harry finally let the tears flow through his eyes. Sirius was now gone. Forever. He had said goodbye. For the last time.

* * *

"My God, Harry!" breathed Albus Dumbledore as he ran towards four, Privet Drive, seeing the throngs of onlookers gathering around the location. The old Headmaster saw flames rising to the skies, mingling with billowing smoke and accompanied in their ascension by the constant wailing of a siren. Putting the pieces together, the defeater of Grindelwald realized that Harry's house was burning to the ground, probably along with his protégé. He made his way through the crowd, trying to get the closer possible to the ruins, not even caring about the Muggles who looked at him with disapproving eyes, appraising his strange attire. He heard behind him a set of loud _cracks_, as people Apparated in. Not taking a glance backwards, he kept shoving people out of his way, ignoring the angered cries he got in answer. He finally made it to the security line and hopped inside, trying to see how he could get within the house. The Muggles could be Obliviated later, but Harry needed to be rescued _now_. He looked around, searching for an unkempt mass of raven hair and found none in the group of people surrounding him. He glanced from left and right, paying no attention to the fireman who was trying to keep him back and the lone figure of an embarrassed, white-faced Mundungus Fletcher who was trying to get his attention.

His gaze finally fell on the Dursleys, huddled against each other at the back of an ambulance, pressing oxygen masks to their face to cleanse their bronchi from the carbon dioxide they had inhaled. A policeman tried to stop him but he walked resolutely towards the family who had still not noticed his brisk approach. The officer behind figured he must have been a relative or acquaintances of theirs and dropped the matter. After all...he had already enough business as it was. He turned back to keep the onlookers out of the firemen's way and get them out for their safety, even though they were quite a distance away from the inferno. "Dursley!" he said, gaining the fat man's attention and making him look straight at the wizard. Vernon Dursley was not a pretty sight. His face was covered in soot, ecchymosed and even bore burn marks, reminders of his painful escape from his burning house. His eyes were bloodshot and his breathing irregular, a bad sign for someone of his temper and corpulence. His torn, battered clothes didn't look any better, blackened by the smoke and the heat. His skin was slightly darkened because of the flames and his wife and son looked like they had taken a recent holiday trip to a tropical country. However, as the beefy individual saw Dumbledore, a dark rage took him, making him launch himself at the old Headmaster and forget all about his weakened state. Dumbledore recoiled in surprise at the man's aggressiveness and managed to pull Harry's uncle away from him neck, barely escaping a violent death by strangulation. He took a step back, just as a second police officer, wearing a neon green chasuble for traffic control, tried to drag the madman back to the ambulance by wrapping his arms around Vernon's armpits, effectively blocking the limbs. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU FREAK! YOU AND YOUR RUDDY KIND! ALWAYS TRYING TO RUIN OUR LIVES! NOW YOU'VE COST US OUR HOUSE! I'LL KILL YOU!" he bellowed, fat tears breaking out of his swollen eyes and spilling down his front. He coughed up violently before slumping to the ground. Two medics hurried forwards, bringing life-sustaining instruments with them as Vernon breathed heavily, lying on his back. The crowd behind the rope frowned in confusion, some of them looking with disapprobation at Dumbledore. Vernon was biased, indeed, extremely prejudiced, but judging by the way that strange man dressed himself...well, there was perhaps some truth behind that spoken-in-anger statement.

"Damn it, blood pressure is above the limit. Tension is rising. Keep him down!" ordered one of the two emergency officers, keeping two fingers close to Vernon's jugular. "Bring me a mask - he needs to breathe. He's got too much dirt down his windpipe. Prepare the phrenic nerve stimulator if need be."

"NO!" said Dumbledore startling the two orderlies who looked back with amazement. _Is he telling us not to treat him?_ they asked themselves, not believing their eyes. _That'd be a crime!_ "I need to know where his nephew is - he lives with them and he is not here!"

"Ah - then go on, but make it fast, sir!" urged one of the two, reluctantly putting the said contraption aside for a moment. "Bring us a gurney - he needs to cool down," he told his colleague. "Bring me some cold water too or that fellow will start burning up."

"Dursley, do you hear me? Dursley!" Dumbledore asked, urgently shaking the fat man's shoulder. Vernon's eyes fluttered open before once again falling upon Dumbledore. This time he was too weak to react but chose to blister vocally instead. "You're the freak - you're the one who did that us," he declared weakly. "You destroyed my life! You tried to attack Dudders and now you take our house away from us! All that because of that bloody boy!" he coughed up, the flame of conscience in his eyes fading.

"You can hate for the rest of your life, mister Dursley," calmly observed Dumbledore before sharply looking back at the burning four, Privet Drive. A fire ladder had been erected and a fireman was currently spraying the house with a water hose, making sure to spread the fluid on a wide arc, to quench the fire. The jet of cool liquid, however, didn't have much effect because of the remaining magic burning itself off, transmitting its power to the flames, which danced without losing their intensity. As the French physicist Lavoisier once said, _'nothing is lost, nothing is gained but everything mutates'. _"But I need to know where Harry is. It is a matter of life and death. Where is he?" he pressed, growing desperate. If Harry was lost to them...

Vernon Dursley grumbled loudly and spat out on the sidewalk, before falling into a series of violent coughs. The medics beside hauled him up on a gurney, under the eyes of his son and wife, as the former dumbly remained seated on the ambulance's back while the latter took off her oxygen mask and came to her husband's side, sobbing loudly. "VERNON! Don't leave me! DON'T!"

"Mrs. Dursley, please..." Dumbledore began, knowing that Vernon wouldn't be able to speak anymore for the day. He hadn't even got the fourth word out that Petunia exploded in rage, effectively cutting him off. "HOW DARE YOU COME HERE! YOU TRIED TO KILL US! YOU RUINED OUR LIVES, THREATENED US, HURT MY DUDDERS, MADE THOSE FREAKS COME TO OUR HOUSE, IMPOSED YOUR WILL TO US! AND NOW YOU BURN OUR HOUSE! HOW DARE YOU!" she shrieked loudly. Mutters arose from the audience and some policemen could be seen closing in, hearing Mrs. Dursley's accusations. A dozen meters away, Mundungus Fletcher shifted on his feet uneasily, not liking at all the turn of events and wishing his colleagues from the Order would show up soon. "BECAUSE OF YOUR LOT MY SISTER DIED! NOW YOU WANT TO TAKE US! YOU - YOU..."

"Mrs. Dursley, for once, I admit, I have nothing to do with your ordeal, but I need to know where Harry is!" he hammered, feeling desperation taking a hold of his mind. He had failed. He had FAILED.

F. A. I. L. E. D.

"HOW DO I KNOW WHERE HE SHOULD BE BY NOW? HE IS GONE! HE LEFT! HE TOLD US HE WOULD LEAVE US ALONE AND LOOK NOW! OUR HOUSE IS GONE! OUR LIFE IS RUINED! WE HAVE NO MORE HOUSE!" she screamed to the top of her lungs, not even minding her weakened state. A medic went beside her, trying to get her calm down, but his advice fell upon deaf ears but not upon a mute mouth.

Dumbledore's entire world then came crashing down at that moment. He couldn't believe his ears. _HE IS GONE__! HE LEFT!_ Harry had left the house, resulting in the cancellation of the blood wards set around the property. His face turned from a shocked countenance to a near-furious one. Harry had escaped. What was the boy thinking of? By going away, he had destroyed the only way to replenish his mother's protection within him! He had definitively alienated himself from his relatives and there was no way the Dursleys could take him back, even after Obliviating them. There were marks that wouldn't go off even after using an enormous amount of magic to rebuild the place and fix everything back to normal. Dumbledore spun away, ignoring Mrs. Dursley hysterical screams. There was no need procrastinating here as a new job needed to be done _immediately._

"YOU MURDERER! FIRST LILY NOW US! YOU ARE DEATH! YOU ARE CURSED! EVERYBODY WHO BECOMES LIKE...LIKE YOU DIES! YOU DESTROY EVERYTHING IN YOUR PATH, YOU DESTROY NORMALCY! YOU...YOU...EVERYTHING!"

_"Why did you do that, Harry?"_ muttered the former Transfiguration teacher as he started for the security line that roped off the surroundings, preventing the bystanders from walking in. He was filled with disappointment and a hint of anger as a dozen years of careful planning, of hard work had just been ruined in a single second for the mere caprices of a boy whose destiny didn't belong in his own hands. Why couldn't Harry understand that? That they were all pawns of Fate, that all of them couldn't have any freedom of action until they fulfilled what they were meant to do in life? He shook his head, frustration boiling within him. He now had to find Harry back and keep him at Hogwarts at all costs, for his own _safety_; he had allowed him too much freedom and now the world would have to suffer the consequences of his deeds. He had nearly killed his family by defusing the wards and was now potentially in harm's way. He wouldn't allow that - Sirius was a death too much and he wouldn't let Harry die, even if it meant locking him up in a dungeon with Snape and a dozen Blast-ended Skrewts. He saw Hestia Jones, Dedalus Diggle, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody making their way towards him, forcing through an indignant crowd. From the corner of his eye he spotted some Aurors trying discreetly to Obliviate the Muggles while trying to let the firemen and police officers do their work unhindered. "Albus, what happened?" questioned Diggle before Petunia Dursley showed once again the stupefying sturdiness of her vocal chords, even after trauma.

"FREAKS! BASTARDS! ASSASSINS! YOU WILL BE THE DEATH OF US! ALL OF US!"

"Harry is gone," he breathed, frowning deeply. "He left the house."

That statement was met with gasps from the Order members, who took in the hidden implications. "Impossible!" growled Moody, taking the plunge and going on with his act. "He was still there when I left my shift. I know it - I saw him!" he ground, glowering at his brothers-in-arms and daring them to say otherwise. No one took up the challenge, instilling the retired Auror with a dark sense of satisfaction and deep relief. _All's going well according to the plan_, he thought. _You aren't the only one who can plot behind everyone's back, Albus. Remind yourself that._ "Well, it seems that Mr. Potter isn't, Alastor. He must have left after you Apparated out but I wonder how he managed to get everything down unless..." he trailed off, not liking the possibility one bit. There were many implications to that hypothesis, all of them picturing Harry turning slightly to the darkness or exposing himself to the enthralling looks of ancient magic. A scenario Dumbledore couldn't afford. Harry belonged to the Light. Period.

The world was too small for two Voldemorts, one old, one young, to live in.

The thought sent chills through his spine.

I. Cannot. Allow. That. To. Happen. Never.

"Then where is he if he's not here? He could be anywhere!" asked Hestia, futilely looking around for the said wizard. She only saw Muggles scowling at them and Ministry wizards merrily erasing memories and enthusiastically practicing spin control. The level of residual magic around them was still too high for them to consider the situation abated. "His relatives don't know but unless I'm sorely mistaken, Mr. Potter is currently at Gringotts and stands a good chance of still being inside the building," Albus answered, taking a look back at four, Privet Drive. "That would be the only reason why the wards fell. He must have been tampering with the blood magic within him."

"Gringotts? What the hell is he doing there?" enquired a perplexed Shacklebolt. Obviously, he wasn't informed of Harry's late activities.

"Sirius' Will," replied Dumbledore, before striding towards an adjacent street where he could Apparate safely away. Policemen tried to stop him but the Order members took out their wands without anyone seeing them and erased the Muggles' memories. The officers staggered back, a little dazed and wondering what had happened. They soon returned to work, as the sirens brought them back to the current situation and unconsciously informed them of what needed to be done. Dumbledore ducked under the security line and dashed away from the scene, along with his subordinates.

Behind them, at four, Privet Drive, the flames roared a last time as the local magic flared, before disappearing, the rage that had animated them at long last extinguished. The firemen blinked in surprise, not understanding at all the miracle they had just witnessed. Many strange things had happened today and no one would contradict them.

In Diagon Alley, in Gringotts' infamous Hall of Fame, hung from the wall a great board made of pure, white marble and surrounded by golden leafs. Upon that rectangle of finely chiseled stone stood many names, that of those who held the greatest wealth of Great Britain. There were roughly two hundred of them, along with the amount of gold stored in the vaults. In the Muggle world, many would have blistered at that display of private information and petitioned for the removal of such a device but things didn't work the same way in the wizarding world. In fact, as many could have guessed, that contraption had been created by purebloods who wanted to demonstrate their superiority towards the 'lesser' individuals by showing off their assets for the world to see. In a sense, it was another way to show how much power one held and how well he had succeeded in the society's hierarchy. Through a little moment of reasoning, it would become clear that success was closely linked to wealth. And therefore blood lines. However, that list had changed when ordinary people who owned large enterprises like Honeydukes and Quality Quidditch Supplies entered in the Top 100, to the great displeasure of old families who hated to see _commoners_ gaining more than them. Such an insult it was and the worst was that it had come by one of their creations...one that had badly backfired. It was, in short, a humiliation they couldn't stand but purebloods took comfort in the knowledge than in the Top 50, forty-five of the fifty individuals listed were of ancient lineages. The ten first were Elderbloods. People tacitly more respectable, honorable than them, but pure. They responded positively to the notion they abode by and that alone sufficed.

Today, however, things were going to change drastically as three names, all belonging to purebloods situated within the Top 50, were violently evicted and replaced by three individuals known for their dislike of blood purity and their being shunned away from the wizarding world for many reasons. What was most infuriating was that they were not only in the Top 50, but two of them were in the Top 10 and the third in the Top 20. An elderly pureblood witch by the name of Bartlett, who had been peering haughtily at the board to see whether her family still remained in the Top 20 or not, nearly had a heart attack when she saw her list number drop from 19 to 22. The shame.

Others gazed in consternation at the sudden evolution, not believing their eyes.

There were two new Elderbloods.

For the first time in fifty years.

* * *

When Harry had been a very young boy and whenever he got in trouble or hurt, nobody had ever come to comfort him, to hold him close and soothe his pain. He always took the full brunt of the Dursleys' beatings and deprivations with calm as he grew accustomed to that dysfunctional family's antics. They had mystifyingly become a part of his life. In a way, they had hardened him faster than a eight-month training session in a military boot camp. If he were to let the sorrow get under his skin then he'd be weaker than ever. Easier to destroy and to crush into the ground, never to stand up again. Each disappointment, each moment of sadness had been spent in silence and stillness, in the solitude of his cupboard, his makeshift room. When the Dursleys screamed at him, he would tune them out, go back to the cupboard and try to forget. The void was his shelter. He had always been alone, with no friends, no true relatives to talk with.

But now it was different.

As he sobbed into Remus' shoulder, he felt the final release of a dozen years spent in frustration, anger and misery. He was free...from now on...forever. But it had taken Sirius' death to achieve such a moment of his life. He was now an adult. A responsible one.

"I think we should begin the last part now, Solicitor," urged Remus, turning his head to the Elder Goblin, while patting Harry's back in a comforting way. "We have lost too much time and we need to tend to the damage the Ritual must have done outside at the Ministry," he lied, trying to quicken the ceremony's pace. Ripbag scowled at that (while paling a bit), but didn't object. "I understand your reluctance to speed things up but I plead you to do it. If His Lordship has reacted that way, then there are probably aftereffects in the Muggle world that could have been seen from unwanted witnesses and that need immediate mending. Do you understand?" he asked, quirking a pleading eyebrow at the disappointed creature. Rituals like this were so rare it was almost a crime either to botch them up or to shorten their length. A sacrilege...but one that could be overlooked judging the current circumstances. Rules had been broken and the sanctity of the situation had flown away, destroyed by events that had gone out of control. Both parties fully understood it but didn't like it either.

"Ar, true, true," replied Ripbag, scratching his head in frustration but not in anger. "But it pains me to do so. My ancestors raised me to perform the Great Rituals in all due honor and now I can't but feel ashamed by all the rule-breaking this Ceremony has seen. Such a pity it is for those walls to behold so much sacrileges..." He gazed at the ceiling, as if trying to read the answers to his interrogations in the darkness looming above. The gesture, however, was not lost on the three humans, who saw in it the picture of a being trying to find a way out in a world where the future was absolutely uncertain. A man crawling in the dark, looking for an answer.

"Then it would give you nothing but honor to see to His Lordship's well-being, sir. Your ancestors prided themselves in the quality of their services - from what I know they always put their clients' needs before themselves through hard work and total dedication to their cause. Why don't you follow their steps? His Lordship feels unwell - why not alleviate the burden on his shoulders? Even though the Blood Purity Ritual is harmless, you wouldn't want anything to happen to His Lordship, would you?" argued the werewolf, trying to sway the Goblins. Ancestry was supremely important among them and using that point always gave you an advantage over them as it was one of their soft spots. That and the transmission of traditions.

"Ar, you're right. Forgive my selfishness, my Lord, my Lady, sir," he mumbled to the trio, his eyebrows furrowing and knitting themselves together. The three other Goblins were uneasy at that show of humility and bowed in apology, imitating their superior so as to emphasize their point. Respect had to come from both parts.

"Right. Could we go on, now, please?" Remus pressed on, regaining his seat and handing Harry a handkerchief. Tonks dabbed at his eyes with the fabric, attempting to soothe the overwhelmed teenager. Now was not a time to falter when being so close to the end. Harry had already broken his vow to stay strong during Sirius' Will and that was one transgression too much. He couldn't afford himself to stay weak, even for Sirius. His godfather wouldn't have wanted it. The young messiah of the wizarding world remembered the last words of his departed familiar: _do not mourn me overmuch._ Ripbag strode over to the desk, deposited the piece of parchment on top of the second silver plate and took the sword, holding it high, in front of his eyes, as if challenging an unknown opponent to a spar. He closed his dark eyes for a moment and muttered something under his breath, the words inaudible to the attendants.

"Now, to definitively seal the Will and mark your acceptance of the document's terms, I will ask you in the name of the Departed and for the purity of the Elders, to please take the sword, cover its edge with your blood and touch this plate here," he gestured to the silver plate. "with the tip of the weapon. Your names will appear at the end of the Will and show that you indeed took part to the ritual and came to full possession of the aforementioned assets and prerogatives. A copy of the parchment will be then sent to the Ministry for the archives where it will be processed and filed. The concerned departments will be notified of your new status and will take steps to facilitate the changes so that no complications will arise in the next few months. As the late Lord Black wrote his Will of his own volition, nobody can contest the document, especially if the inheritors were all present and showed no sign of being forced to attend the ceremony. The Blood Purity Ritual is not only a way to hallmark your membership to the Elderblood Clan but also a means to confirm your belonging to the bloodlines you inherited from. It will also seal the signatures of those families deep within you and constitute the final test to your admittance to the world of the pure."

The trio calmly nodded, motioning the Goblins to go forward with their duties. Ripbag, Digring and Baldvook took the sword, phial and plate and set all three on a stool in front of the desk, two meters away from the wizards and witch. Digring took out the cork off the little bottle and poured its crystalline contents inside the plateau. Tonks looked at Harry who was looking at the scene with tear-filled eyes and murmured, "It's crystal-water, the purest liquid one can find in this world - there are only six sources in the world and all their locations are kept secret by the families who sell the water to alchemists, potions masters and other individuals. Extremely powerful, rare and...expensive." Harry nodded. It was all about purity and it only made sense that crystal-water would be used to confirm his membership to the Elderblood clan. Ripbag solemnly offered the sword to Remus, who took the weapon with a look of determination and pressed the surface of his palm against the cutting edge, effectively drawing blood from his previously unblemished hand for the second time in the day. He smeared the crimson fluid across the blade before dipping the tip of the sword in the crystal-water-filled plate. The liquid turned red for a moment then blindingly white. Runes appeared on the dish's center, glowing brightly under the tainted water. The ex-DADA professor then incanted, "_Accipio canonicum hereditatem_," causing the blade to be lit aglow and be covered in what looked like electricity bolts. Ripbag showed the humans the bottom of the parchment, where Remus' name was appearing...written in _blood._ "Blood is the ultimate proof, Harry," reminded Tonks as she leant towards the frozen wizard. Bad memories from Umbridge and her Blood Quill shot from the recesses of his memory, reminding him of how horrible fifth year had been, even without counting Sirius' passing. Harry shook his head, shifting his attention back to the young Auror.

"Your life-fluid, as people sometimes call it, is impregnated with the characteristics of your very soul, your core. Every person's magic has its own signature. Don't ask me how or why...it just is. It is like a...a scent or something like that. An identity card. That is how we manage to determine whether a wizard or a witch committed a crime or not - by analyzing the magic's signature and seeing whether the match that of the suspect or not. When you perform a spell, your magic is smeared all over the place and leaves traces so it will be easy to get matches afterwards. The blood you're going to put on the sword is a sample of your being. A fingerprint can be easily forged by transfiguration spells and charms or just metamorphmagus abilities, but blood cannot. Even people who are under the Polyjuice potion's effects cannot duplicate your blood, because it is the vessel of your soul. The closest thing to your true self. That's how power is transmitted from generation to generation - by blood. Squib cases occur when the blood's magical matrix is either incomplete or unstable - the magic is not able to reside in there and is discharged in the environment during the birth. It's very painful for the mother but it cannot be helped. So when your blood will enter in contact with the crystal-water, which will act as a catalyst for the Ritual, it will transmit to the Will your complete identity, as well as the bloodlines you were originated from."

Harry nodded, processing the new amount of information he was getting. Another thing he hadn't learnt at Hogwarts, he mused. How could Dumbledore not allow people to know about something as basic and important as this? It could have made a lot of difference in this world...it could have unveiled Voldemort's plans in fourth year by unmasking Crouch Jr. ... And then, Cedric would still be alive...

"But for Inheritance Ceremonies, a lot of Soul Magic is used. And _this_, I mean, that which is going to happen, is extremely _fascinating_," Tonks whispered, an excited look on her face, despite the circumstances. She was trying all her best to cheer Harry up and the wizard couldn't be any more grateful for her efforts. "When you inherit the possession and leadership of a bloodline, the magical signature proper to that line is transmitted to you. I mean, the magical signature only, but not the physical part that come along with the blood. Do you understand me?" she asked, frowning. "No."

"I mean, blood is filled with your...essence, right. All what you are. That 'essence' defines everything you are: appearance, abilities, soul, mind...et cetera. When you become the Head of a Family Line, your blood receives a new signature that is bracketed together with yours. However, that added signature is partial. It is magical only, and does not retain the physical part. If it did, then you'd start looking like the guy or girl you inherited from. Why do you receive it, then? First, to determine which family you belong to and who could be your relatives. Second, for magical contracts. They are bound to your signature only and not another, as it is unique, even among brothers and sisters. It's like what the Muggles call...what's it, again? Ah, yes, DNA," she continued. "It's like a very complicated code that is read by Identifying Spells and used to see whether you're the one they're searching or not. Three, well, some of the deceased's possessions can only be touched or seen by those linked or belonging to the family - thus bearing that signature. It's like, you know, wearing a name tag on your shirt's...excuse me, _robes' _front. You can have multiple signatures for a reason or another and it wouldn't either merge with your own or mess it up. It's a...an add-on, for lack of better term. It can also be removed from your being if someone, a patriarch or matriarch, for example - or just your Head of House - decides to call you a blood traitor or plainly disinherit you. It nearly happened to Sirius but old Darius Black got in before the whole ritual was finished. My mother was disinherited but Sirius gave us back our name so I am able to inherit."

"I see." With an encouraging smile on her lips, Tonks rose from her chair and took the sword from Remus' hands, repeating the same gestures, with identical results. Harry's turn finally came and the young man took the weapon with a small tad of apprehension, fearing another fit. The Goblins even held their breath, waiting for another disaster to happen. However, this time nothing happened as he slit his palm and covered the steel with blood before dipping the tip of the sword in the fluid. His name appeared on the Will. The four creatures relaxed and Girtgold even let out a relieved sigh, earning himself glares from the three other Elders.

But what happened next did surprise Harry, this time.

The will took fire, as if lit by an invisible source. Ripbag's fingers, however, remained in place as if unfazed by the phenomenon. The flames turned purple as the document smoldered. A hiss from beneath Harry took the young wizard's gaze away from the Goblin and unto the silver plate, which seemed to react in accord with the parchment. The crystal-water was boiling and long, diaphanous wisps of vapor started swirling from the liquid's surface, impotently dancing around. "What's happening?" asked a bewildered Harry, fingering his wand, ready to act on cue. "The Will is being sealed, Harry - Ripbag doesn't risk anything. The flames are magical, not material. It's just blood magic flaring."

"Blood magic?"

"Long story," replied Remus. "Highly complicated but it bases itself on the whole stuff Tonks explained to you. You just need to know that in blood resides a lot of highly refined magic, Harry. In its purest state. It is then only normal that some people have tried to use it as another means to fulfill their tasks. The Philosopher's Stone or _Alkahest_ for the ancients, was one of the artifacts created through the use of massive blood magic."

"Merlin."

"You said it, Harry. Merlin was a great specialist of blood magic. Used to make great sacrifices upon altars in Avalon and use the blood of slaughtered sheep to create potions and magical jewels. Druids often used human blood, though. Also through sacrifices. Same thing for the Aztecs and Mayas. Ancient Polynesians too. And let's not forget about Babylonians and Assyrians. Romans were also very merry when it came to that - happily slaughtering geese and ox in front of great altars in wizarding Rome for divination and other things. They sometimes even made it for fun."

"Oh."

The parchment emitted a loud wail before vanishing in a swirl of colors, just as the crystal-water suddenly became hardened ice, its magic stolen away to seal the contract between the dead and the living. Ripbag sighed in acceptance as the Ritual was definitively sealed. For all those who had attended the Ceremony, it had been an afternoon of many woes and equally numerous developments, most of which were either unexpected, agreeable or disagreeable and most of all, dire to see unfold. Harry had been the most touched one, as he was the one to suffer the most of loss of his godfather. He had come here to get over his grief and had miserably failed; finding instead other burdens and words that could break through his hard-earned shields. It was a lesson he wouldn't forget. No one was invincible. He still had a lot of work to do until he would finally be protected against those lurking evils, those memories that would harass you till death did part you from the living, as well as those reminders of your past mistakes. For some, the Will's Reading would have been a path to salvation. For others, like Harry, it had been a small preview of damnation. _Never again. I swore I would be strong_, Harry thought, refraining from sobbing. _I've cried too much. Steel yourself; think about how the Dursleys reacted to your departure. Remind yourself about how Sirius was delighted to see you. Remind yourself of Hermione and Ron. Of Hogwarts..._

"Remus..." he said, loud enough for the mentioned werewolf to hear his call.

"Yes, Harry?" gently asked the former Marauder, a sad smile on his tired features.

"Get me the Hell out of here. Now," he whispered.

"That's what we were going to do," Remus pointed out. "The whole ritual went to hell when...when Lily's blood protection interfered with the Passing of Power spell, so I guess the Goblins won't object to our early departure, now that they've done their job. By the way," he added darkly. "Albus and the Order must be on their way - another reason to evacuate the area before everything falls down."

"I second that," agreed Tonks, rising from her chair. Behind them, the four Goblins were mournfully putting their paraphernalia back to their storage places, bearing a look of discontent and disappointment. Harry followed her, staggering slightly. His face became withdrawn, as his defenses came back to life, at long last, having been swept under a torrent of bad, destroying emotions for too long. _Return back inside, within yourself; remember, you're someone else. Your worries exist no more. You have control. You have the means. You have the will. Act like that, then. Keep breathing deeply,_ Harry chanted to himself. Besides him, the two adults watched with a little unsettlement the drastic changes their protégé was undergoing. From hot to cold, they mused. Fire and ice.

"Then...shall we?"

Remus sighed, nodded and turned back to the Goblins, who were looking at them, waiting for a comment or a wish to be fulfilled. "We must go now; we will come back later to perform the Blood Purity Ritual if everything goes to our wishes. I also would like to apologize on my and my companions' behalf for the turn of events - you aren't the only ones at fault in this chamber, if there are any to be held responsible for what happened. As I said, no one would have foreseen all this and it would have been difficult taking steps to prevent that scenario. I think we should both consider ourselves the victims of Fate's caprices and happy to have gotten out of them fairly unscathed," Remus explained diplomatically, his benevolent features radiating warmth instead of the aggressiveness and outrage the Goblins were obviously awaiting despite Remus' previous attempts to calm the situation. "The Ritual is not needed and we do not consider it necessary to perform the ceremony now. I suggest we come back a little later to set things right when we will know exactly what can be done without putting anybody in harm's way."

The Goblins cringed at that, but nodded gravely, gloomily looking at the chamber and at its morose atmosphere. Ripbag's scowl lessened a bit and the old Solicitor could be seen looking at Remus with a tinge of resignation in his eyes. "I understand your motives, sir, and I agree with you. We do not wish for both our parts to risk anything else in this room. Too much mistakes have been done and I do not wish for the traditions to be sullied in such a fashion, even though not voluntarily. I only wish the ceremony could have been performed as we would have wanted it to," he concluded. He turned towards Harry, before taking out of a white case a small square-like package and handing it solemnly at the wizard with a deep voice. "His late Lordship entrusted us with the keeping of this ring. It is the Black Line Ring, the one that will help you enter all of the warded possessions of that family. The artifact will also legitimate your position and secure your power within the lands your line holds in possession. It is given from generation to generation and I trust you will, in due time, transmit it to your designated successor when the time will be right," he explained, leaving Harry looking at the box, not daring to open it. Tonks put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, compelling him to do the last step. With shaking fingers, Harry opened the lid and found himself gazing at a ring made of pure gold but sporting a black diamond, that seemed to swell with darkness. The Black Line Ring. He took the jewel out of its case and set it around his right hand's middle finger. Small flames erupted from the precious stone but Harry felt nothing, much to his relief; he had braced himself for another wave of pain but he felt his discomfort eased away as he took in the cold feeling the small band gave him.

Tonks and Remus seemed relieved as well, their shoulders slumping down from the tension they had suddenly been given.

Ripbag then presented the other two humans with the same type of packages, informing them of their signification and role. Once again, not much happened. The Goblins looked absolutely happy about that. At least they ended the ritual on a slightly happy tone. The Senior Solicitor sighed and took a step back, staring at the trio straight in the eyes.

"Would you please grant me leave to return to my offices, sir, my Lord, my Lady?" he asked to the trio with a deep bow. Remus dismissed him with a nod, before watching the four creatures glumly shuffling towards the exit. Remus frowned then called out, remembering one last topic. "Oh, Solicitor Ripbag? Before you go, could I ask you one last thing?"

Ripbag spun on his heel and faced the pale werewolf. "Yes, sir? May I help you?"

"Yes...I would like to know if there was another way out of Gringotts apart from Penfield Alley. We do not wish to attract too much attention to ourselves despite what the Elderblood rules require of us and...well..." Remus hesitated for a moment and went on with his explanation before the inquisitive gazes of the Goblins got the better out of him. "...Some unwanted parties are likely to show up and...bother us, for lack of a better term. Is there a way to...sneak out, in absolute discretion, out of Gringotts?"

The four Goblins looked at each other, before Baldvook leant forwards and muttered something in the Senior Elderblood Solicitor's Ear. Ripbag nodded in understanding and spoke up. "There is a secret passage in the Golden Halls that leads to a portrait in the entrance hall of the bank, even though you'd wish there were a less...crowded area for you to enter. The ancient Path of Illumination, which leads to the Nepomucena Neidleberg Mausoleum is now blocked to everyone, Goblins included, because of safety matters...so apart from Penfield Alley, the Barrabag Passage, as we call it, is the only way out."

Remus looked a bit dissatisfied with the news but acknowledged his lack of choices. "Very well. Could you please lead us to that passage, if you please?"

"We could go now if that is your wish as well as that of the Lady and the Lord, sir," replied Ripbag. Harry acquiesced along with Tonks and the seven beings finally left the Inheritance Chamber, leaving nothing but silence and stillness behind them.

As the doors closed, the torches that lit up the massive room gave a final flicker before extinguishing themselves, leaving the darkness to envelop the surroundings and reassume its reign over that small, sealed world. The phenomenon couldn't but give an eventual onlooker a feeling of finality, of an end finally come after a long wait. Which, in a way, was the case.

With that, the living left the dead to their world of silence.

* * *

"As soon as we find him, we escort him back to Hogwarts - we cannot let him dawdle in the open like that. Death Eaters are likely to take him for an easy target and we cannot risk that! Many would spring at the chance to defeat the one that stands between their Lord and his victory so leaving him here is out of question! Stun him if he refuses to hear the voice of reason," ordered Dumbledore with a resolute tone as he climbed the stairs at the entrance of Gringotts Bank. A dozen Order members were hot on his heels as they rushed in to retrieve their only hope for salvation and bring it away from the evils of a sinking world. They had managed to elude the policemen by using Obliviator charms and had hurried to a deserted alley where they Apparated away to Diagon Alley. Even though a lot of damage had been done by showing themselves to the Muggles in wizarding attire, they wouldn't risk an interference from the local Aurors by performing magic in front of the non-magical community. Dumbledore, despite his newfound leading role in this new conflict, couldn't afford himself any wrong steps, especially if they could be reported to the public by mass media. It would give a grudging Fudge a great deal of solid-rock material to fine the organization and order its dissolution. In a statement made at the end of July, the Minister of Magic, despite his desperate call to resistance, had forbidden the arising of vigilantes and private militias to contain the threat that Voldemort and his minions posed to the society. Hit Wizards were accepted to an extent but those particular individuals that could be hired by any people who had the means to pay such services still had to have the Ministry's job approval. Law enforcement and crime prevention had been dramatically improved but some critics in the Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless Network had stated that all the reforms had been done the wrong way on the wrong people. So much for national security, some said. And good news for the dark side, others quipped in return.

"What if he doesn't want to?" asked Dedalus Diggle, huffing as he ran through the doors, much to the astonishment of the clients queuing behind the tellers' desks. Seeing a dozen witches and wizards barge in unannounced, in such an agitated fashion and with Dumbledore at their head, no less, was not something one could easily dismiss as a common occurrence. Some even began to fear an attack from the Dark Lord on the Alley. There were a few cries but the commotion died down as the Hogwarts Headmaster waved his hand dismissingly, showing them that there was nothing to fear. The stares he got, however, persisted despite his reassurance. "I mean - he came here because he wanted to, isn't it - so what if..."

"I fear he doesn't have an option," replied Dumbledore, scanning the surroundings. "He put himself in the possibility of danger and I made it clear that he couldn't do anything like that. His safety comes first!" he emphasized, before spotting a lone Goblin from the corner of his eye and striding towards the creature. "Sir! Could I ask you where Sirius Black's Will is being read at the moment? It is of the utmost importance that I know the location within the bank!"

The Goblin narrowed his eyes at the wizened wizard and bore his fangs in a silent snarl. "I fear I am not at the liberty of telling you confidential information, sir. Only people who have an interest in the reading of the will or are named in the will itself can attend such an event. If an attendant of the will can vouch for you then you may be allowed inside the chamber. Normally, if you belonged to at least one of those three possibilities you would have been notified through an owl - but since you aren't, I cannot discharge such information. Good day," he concluded, turning away and smirking all along.

Shacklebolt blistered at that comment, grabbing the creature's shoulder with a rough hand and make him turn back. "Wait a minute, you darned Goblin! This is a question of life and death and we do not have times to play chicken or give-me-a-riddle games, got it? I am an Auror and I request your answer to the Headmaster's question NOW!" he thundered. Hestia Jones tapped the Auror on his back, making him look around and notice that Goblins and other employees rising from their seats with disapproving, bordering on scandalized looks. Dumbledore, sensing matters complicating to a disastrous level, raised a hand, silencing his 'subordinate'. He then turned back to the Goblin, giving off his trademark 'grandfather smile' and willing his eyes to twinkle in a well-wishing way. The offended employee, however, didn't relieve his face of his scowl and glared back at the human's gall.

"Look here, sir, I do not want any trouble with Gringotts - but, well, could you please put me in contact with one of your superiors? It would save us both a lot of trouble and an unnecessary mess," he said, gesturing to the other Goblins, who were still looking on with angered faces. Dumbledore didn't want to lose the Goblins' support in this war as they were quite powerful and had a lot of useful resources and Harry's escapade made things more and more complicated, if not highly explosive. _Why did you have to do it, Harry? Can't you see the depth of your actions' consequences?_

The teller snarled and spun on his heel, walking towards an older-looking Goblin before harshly speaking to him in Gobbledegook - a disguised insult to the gathered Order members, as speaking in a different language was equivalent to ignoring the other speakers, shunning them out of the discussion. That, of course, wasn't missed by the agitated headmaster, who frowned worriedly at the turn of events. From bad it had gone to terrible and from terrible to utterly disastrous. Catastrophic. A-po-ca-lyp-tic. _How many things must you bring down in one day, Harry? Haven't you had enough? I let you ruin my office back then - must you know take out your anger at the world around you? All the alliances we made, the precautions we took, the devices we discussed and the plans we wrote? Isn't that enough when Voldemort still plots the end of the wizarding world, waiting like an adder for a chance to spring from the darkness and strike?_

The other Goblin, an accountant according to the blue-colored uniform he wore, ended the conversation and turned to Dumbledore, dislike evident in his speech. "I believe, if you're trying to attend - by force, no less, a blatant disregard of our rules - a will's hearing, that you will have to talk to Senior Solicitor Ripbag, but he is currently unavailable for he has to attend _crucial_ matters at the moment."

"Look - you little," began Shacklebolt, stopping mid-sentence as Diggle struggled to restrain the incensed, dark-skinned Auror. "Is there a way to summon his assistant, then, if the Head Goblin is not free right now? Fast?"

The creature pursed his lips and frowned as he thought of the possibility. "If Solicitor Ripbag is tending to the good proceeding of a ceremony of that high an importance, then his assistants will most likely be unreachable too, as they are more than likely to attend the said ceremony and assist their superior. I fear you are on your own, gentlemen." Behind the Order members, Alastor Moody scoffed inwardly, knowing that the Elder Goblin wouldn't be here anytime soon, _because _of the Inheritance Ritual and most of all, _Harry_.

_It's incredible how funny Fate can get, eh, Dumbledore? Not to mention ironic, on top of all things! Payback's a bitch, as the youngsters say nowadays_, he chuckled in his head, keeping nonetheless his look of paranoia on his face - which wasn't very hard due to the presence of many scars and chunks of missing flesh that made his expressions hard to read.

"Where are the Inheritance rooms, then?" waved off Dumbledore, feeling time running out. _As soon as Harry is in Hogwarts, I'll make him stay at the Gryffindor Tower. I must make him understand that his life no longer belongs to himself. It belongs to the entire world. Why can't he accept that?_

The accountant bared his teeth in annoyance, then snarled, "The rooms you are looking for are at the second level, fourth wing, in the Philibert Roddlebow section but if you are to enter without leave the said rooms, then we will be forced to call upon the Ministry and have you arrested," he warned, finality ringing through his tone. The threat was not lost upon the wizards, especially Shacklebolt and Moody, who were both actual and former Aurors.

"Thank you," answered the headmaster with a short nod. Moody was now laughing in his mind, as he knew they were taking the wrong direction and probably clearing the way out for his three accomplices. _Really, Dumbledore, I think I have been right when I said you were making counterproductive steps. You're just shown me how to dig your own grave and set yourself inside the coffin without anyone's help! And what about constant vigilance? Bollocks! _he grumbled inwardly. Dumbledore then strode towards the elevators, his pace quickening in anticipation. The group, with a sigh of relief, finally took off behind their leader, leaving a hall full of begrudging Goblins and clueless humans behind them, the former harboring dark feelings towards rule-breakers and wrongdoers and the latter wondering what the hell was that scene all about. Suffice it to say, the list of surprises for the day weren't at all finished, as a certain pureblood, an elderly woman, was being levitated away by St Mungo's nurses in a state of shock and muttering curses under her short breath. The only clue the bystanders had about that new event was a mutter from one of the Healers, "Having a fit because of a darned list full of names and numbers. Really! Old ones, these days..."

Whoever said life was made of rationality only?

* * *

"They're gone. Finally," murmured Remus, watching through hidden peepholes at the dozen witches and wizards leaving the area. He opened the door in front of him, stepping into Gringotts' entrance hall, tugging Harry behind him while holding Hedwig's cage under his arm. Tonks took her wand out, searching for any possible threats, her eyes darting from left to right. "Let's go now!" she ordered. The trio got out of the corridor they were hiding in, leaving its door wide open (the 'door' was in fact a sliding portrait of Bellerophon 'Bountyseeker' Barrabag, a famous warlock that had been one of Gringotts' most important contributors in the past, placed in front of the secret passage and hiding it from everyone's view). They crossed the entrance hall in great haste, drawing looks from many people whose eyebrows rose at the sight of such a rich attire. The eldest Goblins, who knew the implications behind paled and went back to work, muttering among themselves in frenzied Gobbledegook. Harry, for once, was glad that nobody could recognize him. His hair was still shoulder-length, tame and his scar was hidden from the others' sight. He still attracted attention because of his rich robes, but this time it had nothing to do with his being the Boy-Who-Lived. He was someone else, a new Lord maybe, but someone different from the slandered savior people grew to known him as. He, Tonks and Remus had draped long, dark shawls around their shoulders to lessen the impression of wealth they exuded. The trio made its way through the great chamber, ignoring the hushed conversations around. Wizards and witches usually wore conservative dresses but rarely ceremonial ones. Those particular garments were only worn for great occasions and important events and many onlookers took the hint at first sight. The Muggleborns, for their part, remained clueless to the depth of the wizarding society. There seemed to be an _omerta_ about the upper classes, the ones at the top of the pyramid as nobody dared to speak about them. A law of silence. Darkness enshrouded them, literally and figuratively and countless were those who were reluctant to reveal secrets to the newcomers, as if it were a crime to even talk about such important matters. Tonks saw from the corner of her eye three Mediwitches levitating an old woman away, struggling to keep her calm by Silencing her voice. _Wonder what happened..._Tonks thought. _That's old Ulrica 'Iron-nerves, Panzer Division' Bartlett. Never thought I'd see the day she would finally crack down. Weird._

"Come on, come on," the werewolf urged, pushing the front doors open and letting Harry out. "We'll have to go to the Leaky Cauldron or another area with a hearth so that we can Floo out." They descended the stairs rapidly and entered Diagon Alley, while quickening their pace. Once again, people stared at them as their surprise was comparable to that of Muggles seeing people casually walking down the street wearing a tuxedo instead of casual clothes. It was just out of place.

"People are looking at us, Remus," worriedly observed Tonks, not liking the display they were offering and noting with slight annoyance the heads turning in their direction as they walked past. She felt like a cat strolling in a kennel full of Dobermans. _Fish out of water_, she thought.

"I know, don't mind them," cut off Remus. "Just keep going."

Harry saw from the corner of his eye Justin Finch-Fletchley staring at the trio but didn't stop to acknowledge the young student. This was not the time for greeting people when some serious individuals were after you. By the way, Finch-Fletchley, even though he was a DA member from Hufflepuff, wasn't one of his closest friends so it was useless starting a chat with him. By the way, he felt too tired for that. The trio walked past Florean Fortescue's ice cream shop and strode towards one of Diagon Alley's most famous inns, The Leaky Cauldron.

Remus pushed the door and entered inside, beckoning his two companions to follow him quickly. "Hello, Tom!" he greeted the bartender, who looked at them in surprise before frowning in concentration. "Do I know you, sir? Forgive me my impoliteness but you seem awfully familiar - I just can't put a finger on..." he started, trying to recognize the three individuals that had barged in as if they were hounded by the spawns of hell. Remus strode to the counter and beckoned the man forward. Tom leant over and Remus spoke in his ear. The middle-aged wizard's started in surprise. "Are you? My word, Remus, you certainly look good like that!" he exclaimed, recognition dawning on him. "I really didn't recognize you - dresses like this surely become you, I tell you that!" The innkeeper eagerly turned towards the two others. "You too, mister Potter, miss Tonks," he said, bowing. "It's always a pleasure to meet you. How can I serve you?" he inquired, wondering what brought them here in such a flourish.

"Could we borrow you one of your rooms for a moment then use your fireplace to Floo out?" asked the werewolf, discreetly looking out of the windows to check out the Alley. People were still staring at them, but were slowly starting to go back to their own business as they dismissed the event as peculiar but not overly alarming. Tom's smile widened in answer. "Sure, sure. Why don't you take room number six? It's the only empty one right now." He looked behind him and snatched a key from a board before handing it to the werewolf. "Leave it on the nightstand and leave the door unlocked, I'll take it back as soon as you leave the building," he added. Remus' face, for one of the first times in two months, split in a large grin. "Excellent - thank you, Tom. You never disappoint us," he replied, making the bartender swell with pride. Harry knew that Tom was an individual one could blindly rely on. He wasn't someone with hidden agendas; just a man who wanted to live his life to its fullest extent and do his job the best he could. Someone normal, to sum everything.

"Hello, Harry."

The aforementioned wizard's heart stopped beating for a scant second as he heard his name being uttered behind his back. _If this is Dumbledore, I'll throw a fit. Hmmm, no. A full-scale Bomberman Hysteria Combo sounds better_, he reflected, remembering Dudley's constant gaming on the PlayStation as well as his childish war cries He slowly spun around, noting that Remus and Tonks had also stiffened at the call. He came face to face with a dreamy-looking Luna Lovegood, still as weird, mysterious but honest and sympathetic as he could remember her. His bloodstream's speed fell as relief took his body over, happily realizing that it wasn't the Order but just Luna 'Loony' Lovegood, the Ravenclaw girl who believed in strange beings like Heliopaths and Crumple-horned Snorkacks and wore radishes as a necklace. The other student who could hear the voices behind the Veil...

The other student that had followed him to the Department of Mysteries...where Sirius had died.

"H...hello, Luna. Fancy seeing you here..." he stammered, trying to regain his composure. _Get a grip, Harry. Get a bloody grip or I'll make you eat the remains of the Basilisk you slew in the Chamber of Secrets_, harshly threatened the young man's conscience. _And I'll make you sniff Snape's boxers, too!_

"Likewise...pretty robes, though. I like the new haircut, by the way...mmmh...maybe you should add dreadlocks on the back of your head," she observed, looking him over. Harry's eyes nearly bugged out at the proposition. _Dreadlocks? Heavens, no, bloody sodding NO!_ "Thanks...but I think I'll pass...the haircut's temporary, you know. I'll revert back to my old self as soon as I can," he corrected. Tonks was now looking at the two with a confused look, trying to understand the girl's logic. "Oh well," she replied airily, as if talking about the weather. "People nowadays have no sense of innovation at all. Not like my father who set his head on fire last Thursday to make it look frizzier and not always rely on spells... But then I could hardly impose my will on you, don't you think?"

"Ye...yeah, sure," he answered, as the question hit home.

Hard.

Even though the girl had no idea how many problems the quest of free will had given Harry. "Luna, err..." he turned back to Tonks. "This is Tonks. Tonks, this is Luna."

"Wotcher, Luna," greeted the metamorphmagus in her cheerful fashion, her hair brightening in response to her good mood. Luna blinked and answered, "Hello, miss Tonks, nice hair you've got. Do you dye them with the essence of Asphodel roots mixed with the crushed leaves of a Ficklebaum Tree?"

Tonks' eyes fluttered in confusion as she tried to process the question. "Ficklebaum Tree? Never heard of that one."

"Well, it's a cousin of the American Giant Sequoia that grows inside caves full of luminescent fungus, the only difference being that the Ficklebaum Tree is reported to sprout poisonous mushrooms all over its bark," Luna explained airily. "From what I gathered, it is very useful against kappas. It gets them drunk, according to what my father says - you just pour the tree's sap into the water where the water demons live to cause a small-scale pollution. Kappas then get confused and drowse off in a near-ethylic coma. The only downside of that device is that the water takes an unhealthy color and can then be used either as a dye or a light paint for temporary works. Bluepelt Bears do love the mushrooms' taste, though, despite their toxicity. As well as the Snorkacks."

Tonks, without a doubt, was a loss for words. Being an Auror she had had to study dark creatures to qualify for her job and _that _wasn't certainly in her textbooks. _Snork-whatsits? Bluepelt Bears? Ficklebaum Trees? Man, she's barking! She must be high on Firewhisky and drugs! Which SANE girl in this sad world wears RADISHES on a necklace, too? And...CORKSCREWS as earrings? _she thought, bewildered. Tonks sometimes wore grungy clothes that would make her look like a punk in the Muggle world, but her fashion notions didn't go that far in that scale of weirdness. Harry sent his 'relative' a pitying glance, silently mouthing a _'don't mind her, just play along'. _"Ah," Tonks managed to comment, her jaw snapping shut with an audible _click._

"How were your holidays?" Harry inquired, trying to steer the conversation away from fashion and looks. He was as clueless as Ron when it came to such notions. A complete nitwit.

"Oh, nothing really interesting. Father thinks he saw a Crumple-Horned Snorkack in Sweden but he didn't manage to locate it again afterwards. I think it must have been frightened by our approach - they have a good hearing, you know - that is how they always manage to elude us. But it is nonetheless a good sign that Snorkacks _do _exist, contrarily to what most advance without proof to support their opinion. We also received from a wizard in Ecuador some news about a new breed of Snorkacks, this time with curly hair and flippers. I wonder what they must look like? Don't you?"

"Yes, indeed," Harry replied softly, not wanting to upset the girl. Luna always had to put up with the prejudices of her fellow students, from all years. They always called her 'Loony' and stole her books, quills, ink bottles and parchments, to annoy her but with little effect. Just because she believed in strange things and had unorthodox opinions about certain matters. The fact that most individuals considered her as a complete airhead if not a downright nutter just aggravated the whole subject. But Harry held a certain 'fondness' for her...even though 'benevolence' or 'sympathy' would be more appropriate. Even though Luna was too eccentric for him she had, managed, along with Hermione and Ginny, to soothe him when he was mourning Sirius' death. At the end of fifth year, he had had a little chat with her over the strange voices behind the veil and the fact that both of them could hear them had established a strange, unspoken connection between the two of them. One of trust. They both believed in something nobody else did. They could relate to each other in that and Harry took the whole 'bond' as a sign that Luna wasn't stupid and that to her rumors truth lingered behind. Oddities were but the garbled interpretation of reality, after all. Coincidences and illusions. Misunderstandings.

"I mean, does their fur serve to protect them from the rain or is it there only for fashion? I wonder if it has magical abilities - you do know that unicorn skin is often used in restorative and healing potions, don't you?" she asked, the Ravenclaw in her kicking in. Harry nodded, despite his mediocre knowledge of potion-brewing. "Well, I was wondering whether one could use it as a draught ingredient. Some creatures' most prominent features like horns, tails, teeth, pelt and skin are always laden with magic even though the amount is small and cleverly distributed. If one could use the Snorkacks' fur as an ingredient, the possibilities of creating new potions could be increased by a large percentage."

"I understand. But what are you doing here?"

"Well," she answered breezily, shaking her head and making her makeshift necklace jingle. "My father is here on business with a couple of colleagues and asked me to stay at the Leaky Cauldron while he tries to find the proof that Fudge does have Heliopaths under his command. According to some snippets of conversation my father overheard at the Ministry, Fudge's soldiers are living just below the Department of Mysteries - it is truly a pity I didn't have the chance to check that out, it would have made good material for the Quibbler's next front page." Harry's face fell somewhat as she reminded him of the place his godfather fell under Bellatrix' assault. "Oh..." she said, noticing his downcast expression. "I'm sorry...I thought you had come to grips with his departure - our little talk at the end of the year made me assume you did indeed release your grief over that matter. I guess I was wrong. I apologize," she added calmly, blinking owlishly. Behind her, Tonks was scratching her head, vainly attempting to figure out the former fourth-year Ravenclaw student. The metamorphmagus' hair was a little bit unkempt - something that always happened when she was perplexed or troubled.

"I see," pleasantly interjected Remus, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and tacitly putting an end to the conversation. "I'm glad to see you are having a good time and enjoying your holidays, miss Lovegood, but pressing matters unfortunately require our departure. Could we be excused?" he asked, smiling at the Ravenclaw, who agreed immediately, as if it were no trouble at all. "I see no trouble letting you go, professor."

"Mr. Lupin or Remus, dear, I'm not your teacher anymore," the werewolf corrected.

"Isn't it common courtesy to acknowledge someone by the role he has taken in your life, professor?" she asked, fingering the radishes around her necks and even taking a bite off one. "One knows the other in many ways - and I only recall knowing you as a student and you knew me through the eyes of a teacher. Multiple identities, if you get the point - like layers of a soul. I trust the most appropriate word to convey my opinion is 'aspects'. 'Facets' is also another way to put it."

Remus seemed taken aback by the girl's logic but chose to dismiss it. "Indeed, indeed. Very insightful, I must say. But we must go now so if you please..."

Luna waved a hand. "Well, then so be it. It was a pleasure meeting you...goodbye, miss, professor. Goodbye, Harry - see you at the station at the beginning of the term, then," she concluded, breezily waving a hand to the trio, while going back to the back of the inn, a copy of the Quibbler's latest edition under her arm. Tonks watched the girl walk away with a dazed look before shaking her head. "I wonder where you get your acquaintances, squirt. You sure do have a interesting collection."

"What don't you know..." Harry muttered. _Half-giants, werewolves, hippogriffs...now Elderbloods. Whoever is in the heavens writing my destiny, well...bring it on! _"Can we go now?"

"I was just waiting to remind you," snapped Remus. "Let's go NOW."

"Yeah, yeah, jeez, you don't have to be THAT snappish, you know!" shot back Tonks as they went to the staircase and climbed upstairs. In less than five seconds, the Auror had managed to trip six times and stumble twice, nearly making Harry tumble backwards and break his neck. "Look out - step!" the wizard cried, not wanting to have a clumsy Auror in her twenties barrel into him and use him as a bowling tenpin. "Alright, alright!" Tonks huffed, aggravated. "Look - you see, I managed to reach the top of the stairs, okay? I'm safe."

That was when she missed the next step and fell flat on her face, digging her teeth deep into the carpet.

Harry rubbed his forehead with his fingers, feeling a headache coming. "What in the nine hells have I done to deserve this?"

* * *

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up from her book about Nundus and found herself staring at the tight-lipped face of one Minerva McGonagall, standing in the middle of her room. Startled by the sudden appearance, the Hogwarts' most clever witch let her _Nundus: Demons of the Bush_ by Edmond Ettlemeyer fall on her lap and gave a surprised yelp, nearly falling off her bed as she scrambled to her feet. Crookshanks, her pet cat who had been dozing off on the rug, hissed in alarm, his hair standing upright in fear, before streaking under behind the bookshelves, seeking for cover.

"Pro - professor? Wh...what are you doing here?"

"Hello to you too, my dear," sternly answered the Transfiguration teacher, frowning at the lack of greetings. Hermione's face flushed in embarrassment as she reminded herself of McGonagall's love of traditions and rules. She bowed her head in disguised apology and muttered a meek "Hello, professor."

McGonagall's features relaxed into an indulgent smile as she took note of the correction, and spoke up. "Well, how are you doing these days, Ms. Granger? I haven't heard from you for a long time, since you usually send me owls about Transfiguration spells," she inquired, scrutinizing her student and looking for signs of untreated illness and unhealed wounds. Hermione, in her never-dying thirst of knowledge, had taken the habit of asking her favorite teacher extremely elaborate questions about one of magic's most complex and powerful sciences. McGonagall, however, didn't do anything to hinder that quest, as she favored studious people and held them dear to her hardened heart. Of course, she never showed her weak spot for those individuals, but it was only in times of punishment and sorrow that her leniency would be unveiled. Her sternness, however, masked all the 'symptoms' from the alumni and students, perpetuating the belief that she was 'one heck of a tough, strict teacher', as many put it.

"Well, I tried not to bother you since...well, you know, the Order business and all...but why are you here, professor?" she asked, before anxiety took her over, as eventualities rose in her mind's eye, all giving her horrible reasons for the professor's visit. "Has something happened? Is it Harry? Ron?" Crookshanks growled from his hiding point, wondering if the commotion was over and the place safe again for him to stroll around without risking being hurt.

McGonagall raised an old hand, beckoning her prize student to stop her flow of questions. "Calm down, my dear, calm down. Nothing such has happened, if that can relieve you of your fears. I have, however, been compelled to take some steps because of new developments that are not to my liking and that need to be sorted out with the concerned parties. In conclusion, I am here," she added briskly, her tone becoming harder and resolute. "to discuss about some...important matters. Time is of the essence."

"Oh."

And with that simple statement, Albus Dumbledore received another source of dreadful worries, for the second time in less than twelve hours. Things were indeed getting into motion, but not the way the old headmaster would have wanted it them to be.

* * *

Remus closed the door behind him, muttering about how such clumsy people could be allowed to become Aurors. Tonks, as one could have guessed, was none too pleased by that comment. "I heard that, Remus!" The werewolf flinched as he realized he had been caught and shut up, merely choosing instead to discard his fine robes and settle Hedwig's cage on the ground, eliciting a relieved _hoot_ from the owl who had been subjected to a less-than-comfortable travel in her 'skeleton house' for the past fifteen minutes. "Sorry, girl. Couldn't be helped," said Harry, kneeling next to his pet and passing his fingers through the bars to pat the bird's back in a soothing way. Hedwig let out an indignant _hoot_ (Translation: 'couldn't be helped my ass!') and ruffled her wings. Harry withdrew his limb and sent her an apologetic look.

"So. What now?" he asked Remus, who was taking from his trousers' pocket a small pouch full of Floo Powder.

"We're going to our new quarters," came the short answer.

"What?" blinked Harry.

"You heard me. My place is no longer safe - Albus will check it up first. And as soon as he learns that Tonks was with us, he's going to bug her family till they tell him where she's gone."

Harry's lips tightened as he thought of the Headmaster. He was a man who always meant the best for everyone but his actions had all been done the wrong way. He couldn't just understand what _people really needed_ and chose instead _what seemed to be done for everyone's good_. The choice was rational but not wise in the slightest. The conflict of interests always had sad consequences...like Sirius' death, for example. Or letting people in the dark, till they drown in the madness of unawareness and impotence. He sighed in resignation before turning to Tonks. "I'm sorry."

The young Auror waved him off, giving him a bright smile that, however, didn't reach her worried eyes. "Don't sweat it, squirt. My mother knows about our plans. She doesn't know where we're going so Dumbledore cannot get anything from her," she explained with a wink. "And for that matter..." she continued with a pensive look, setting a finger on her lips. She turned to Remus, who was looking at her with an expectant look.

"WHERE are we going, by the way?"

"Not Grimmauld Place, please," pleaded Harry. He didn't want to face Sirius' abode now, just after hearing the will. He needed to regain his shields and re-strengthen them first before confronting the plaguing memories such a place would elicit from him. Not to mention that traitorous, sniveling creature that called himself Kreacher - the house-elf that had betrayed the Order because of its bigotry and so-called faith to the Most Noble House of Black. Kreacher. Now that he thought of it, Harry deemed that he should and would have a little chat with the scum sometime in the future to settle things right, to avenge his departed godfather. Kreacher wouldn't live to see another year being born, he told himself. He would meet the Creator of this universe first and meet his judgment. Unbeknownst to the three humans, Harry's Ulciscor Oath flared to life for a mere millisecond as the first object of the spell's wrath had been identified.

"Don't worry, Harry, we aren't going there," assured Remus, trying to liven up the young man. "The Order is still maintaining its headquarters there as part of the contract between Sirius and Dumbledore so...it would be a complete ruin of our plans to just come to a place full of the people we had tried so hard to avoid. I have no doubt Mad-Eye is going to lead them onto false tracks, but we won't be able to fool them eternally. And Moody will have to quit the Order so that he can join us, so..."

"Ah," sighed Harry in relief, before recomposing himself. _Face of steel, heart of stone and soul of ice, Harry. Remember._

"Then where are we going again, Remus?" asked a puzzled Tonks. "I don't see where we could go..."

"In fact, Sirius once talked to me about a...residence of his that should fit our needs perfectly. I think I should remind both of you Harry inherited that place merely moments ago..." the ex-DADA teacher finally answered, quirking an eyebrow to his erstwhile student. "And that's where Harry comes in. He's our key to asylum. To protection."

"Me?"

"The place where we are going is protected by a variant of the Fidelius Charm - it will be hidden from our sight unless a member or the Head of the House of Black decides to reveal its location. The spell is triggered by one's will, not one's knowledge. The Black Line Ring will make sure we, Tonks and I, will be able to enter in safely. You, for your part, will be able to see the residence and enter it without assistance, thanks to the ring," he explained, fingering the green powder with almost sweaty hands and striding over to the fireplace, lighting up the stored wood inside with a flick of his wand. "_Ignitus._"

"Oh. And which place are we going to?" asked Tonks, scratching her head with long, manicured finger.

"Shadowvale Castle," came the curt answer. _As long as we're away from the Order, I don't have any problems with it._

And with that, the tired man threw the magical substance into the crackling flames, making them glow a bright, vivid green. With a last glance at his companions and a "follow me", he shouted "SHADOWVALE CASTLE!" before actually stepping into the hearth and disappearing in a blinding flash. Harry and Tonks looked at each other and nodded, steeling themselves for the next part. Harry took a pinch of Floo powder, dropped it in the fire and followed Remus towards his new home.

As he wildly spun around inside the Floo Network, wondering about the most incredible events of this day, he couldn't but wonder about what was awaiting him at the location known as Shadowvale Castle.

"Well, it's not like I'm going to be eaten alive by huge, fanged and clawed monsters. But then, even the Dursleys must be feeling cozier than I am right now," he mused. "Now that I am away from them, they must be absolutely ecstatic right now."

As the ancients once said, ignorance was indeed bliss.

* * *

**An author's notes: _of plots and other features..._**

Didn't you like it? Hee hee hee hee. Evil me. Or not.

While I was just tempted to just leave Harry with money and Grimmauld Place, I had planned this all along...well, err...erm, okay, I admit it. The Elderblood thing just popped up but it was so perfect for me, as it was a good introduction to how Harry would train himself and to the skills and power he would get next. Oops...did I say 'power'? Yeah, but not politically...but then...the prerogatives coming with Harry's lordship make for a nice bonus since Fudge's still here as a Minister, heh? Okay, I'll give you a very small clue to what I may plan for the few next chapters (when I say few, I say in the near future, not very soon or in the next three chapters): Remus said something about the Elderbloods' grip on the Ministry...and a bloke called Cauldwell. Ooh yeah. Got it? Excellent! If not, check it up or just guess. By the way, for the Passing of Power Ritual, I think I really sucked for the incantation. I couldn't think of anything better. I'm no John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. Have you noticed tried to make this fic a little bit funnier? I hope my attempts weren't a complete waste of strength and imagination.

But for the moment, I'm trying to pull some things off as well as answer some questions some of you might ask, about Sirius' will. That's why the previous chapter was so long. I didn't want to leave unanswered questions around and longed to introduce you to the Elderbloods' universe - even though it is nothing but a dying one. But it will have a lot of importance for some other individuals... Another clue to what I'm suggesting: if the Malfoys, who call themselves 'pure-bloods' are equivalent to aristocracy, then the Elderbloods are something like...royalty. Ohoooo... Hah! Another thing for you to whip around, Harry! But not now. Later, but I'll try to make it worth. Harry first has to get a bit stronger and get his bearings now that he's confused. Learning you're something close to royalty in a few seconds is not something to dismiss like an everyday occurrence.

_'Oh, Ron, did you know that I've just become a member of the royal family?'_  
_'Huh? YOU? Wait a minute...'_  
_'Why? Weren't you one of them too? Pity, I figured you were. Queen Elizabeth looked a lot like Ginny without the mustache, so I guessed... Then again...'_  
_'Hey! Listen to...'_  
_'...It's not as fantastic as it sounds, though. The Rolls-Royces are made out of pure gold but I prefer the diamond-covered Ferrari in the garage, though it's only there as a decoration for my two hundred-acre private amusement park. The place is quite tiny in my opinion, but...'_  
_'WHAT? Come on, mate, come here...'_  
_'And with the few thousand, half-naked, blonde girls trying to enter my palace to have a good shag with me...really boring...'_  
_'HEY, LISTEN TO...! HARRY!'_

Yeah. Really. When Harry rambled on about his 'written-on-a-hunch fairy tale', I meant it as a private joke about me and my making up my fics on the way without any exact predetermined goals. But don't worry - I do have some things intended for this series. I did have, too, for 'NGE: TBI' but as I stated in my bios and a previous chapter, I had to put it on hold because I was having problems keeping innovation going in my chapters. HP offers me more freedom of movement, though so I switched to this area as my chaps keep coming faster than ever. Bloody hell, I'm even writing faster than I did for TBI, even for its prologue which is shorter than HP-ASIT's! Last but not least, sorry about the delay. I tried to download small videos through Bittorrent and the files filled my hard drive to the brim with imaginary information. The disk cleaner jams every time I try to activate it and I had to uninstall Frontpage for a while to keep some free space in the HD. I'll eventually have to reinstall 2000NT if not install XP. So...expect delays. Sorry again.

* * *

**About making things clear: _answers to recent reviews_**

_Nomoreseverusharryslash_: I won't deign answer your review. I won't even stoop down to your level by using your type of language. I won't even talk back to you unless you learn two important things in life: RESPECT and POLITENESS. Until then, mister I-think-I'm-so-mighty, you can shove your keyboard up where the sun doesn't shine. When I write a review and want to point out either a mistake or a flaw to a fellow author, I give him a respectful and polite message - not like the piece of shit you gave me. As for the self-esteem, I don't know where you got that, so get the hell out.

_Alen_: the H/Hr thingy won't happen before a long time. The first events pictured in this series are about Harry trying to adapt himself to his new life and prepare himself for the war but that doesn't mean that his relationship with Hermione would be instantly doomed to disappear. Sure, in the beginning it is shoved in the background, with little to no mention of it, but it is still there. As for the summary, well, the only thing I can say about that is a saying I've always worked with: 'do not judge a book by its cover. It is not the mirror of its content and there is more to the content than to the cover. Appearances can be misleading'. Too bossy for him? Well, yes, I admit it, but if you haven't foreseen it, most Harry-goes-independent fics always sport character changes. Even if they are little, they are still there. Life is evolution and as chaos theories state it, if a species doesn't evolve enough over time, it will be on its way to complete extinction (by the way, the same thing goes for the species who evolve too much or too fast). So... As for Hermione, in a way, she has to understand, as she stated in HP&tPS/SS before Harry went to confront Quirrell, that there was more to life around her than in her books, before even beginning a relationship. Bossy know-it-all? If she isn't the right one for Harry then she absolutely isn't the one for Ron who likes fun like nobody and dislikes books. If you're a R/H shipper, then your argument backfires. Slash? Sorry, but I'm not into slashes.

_Meg: _the part with Harry in the dark chamber was a metaphor to emphasize his feeling of confinement while danger is slithering towards him (Chamber of Secrets reloaded, hmmm?). The room was comparable to four, Privet Drive and the red eyes, well, it's undoubtedly Voldemort - but it wasn't a mental link-induced nightmare. Just his mind mulling over his being cooped up in that house, telling him to get the hell away out of there - you know how our subconscious translates our feelings and experiences into either good dreams or nightmares. I once spent the whole week dreaming about werewolves chasing after me because I read a comics book called 'Tales Of The Crypt'. Since it wasn't exactly my favorite type of reading, we'll, the whole thing rather stayed in my mind, much to my...discomfort. Try to guess in what mood I woke up...(been dreaming about werewolves and mummies for the entire week...brrrrrr!) For the relationship point, you got it right. It won't happen anytime soon. As for Ron, well, he's going to act like a prat, but there are reasons to that...let's just say that it will be sporadic...like schizophrenia, if you see what I mean. And look at Loopy dane's part underneath to get another spoiler. SM. (by the way, it doesn't mean sadomasochistic, all right? ;-)) Oh, dear, I revealed too much...kill me.

_AllAboutMe: _OOC? Well, I don't know...I wanted to portray him as a guy who indeed wants to ensure everyone's safety but in a way goes too far and starts hurting people. Mind you, AD here just wants your average student to be safe, okay? It's his responsibility. However, I believe that he's trying to steel himself up for the upcoming war and knows that he has to do some sacrifices to win over the Dark Side. But I'll try to fix it during the next chapters and show what he exactly has in his mind (note: check Grookill's part, beneath). But, by the way, having him showing a rather inflexible and cold mind was a way to justify Harry's resentment towards Dumbledore and provide a trampoline for the whole series. As for the change of perspective, sorry, but in my HTML docs, I did have a set of symbols showing the change of perspective, but FFN's QuickEdit took them out as they don't display them in the finished HTML format. Sorry.

_Voakands_: Harry will have his own house...or something bigger than that. You'll see next. I intended to let him go to Remus' but it would then be easy for Dumbledore to locate him. So that was out of question. As for Harry staying with the Muggles? It would have hampered the whole Elderblood and Inheritance thing, as well as what follows them.

_Schmanski_: I'm awfully sorry about that, but it can't be helped, at the moment. I had to introduce a lot of things and, well, I couldn't make Harry go Matrix in Gringotts just for a will, right? But then, his training begins and there'll be a little action. For the Death Eaters confrontation, well, I'll see what I can do. Do not despair, though. The Great Wall of China wasn't built in a scant second, you know? It takes a lot of time and planning.

_Loopy dane_: well, you got me: you just pointed out a little problem I got, a trap that I myself set and walked straight into. With Harry becoming an elderblood he doesn't need to go to Hogwarts anymore for many reasons, especially the fact that he will have a brand new curriculum and other new fields to study. I named some of them in passing in chapter three. If you remember well, I named two types of near-dark types of magic. Their initials are BM and SM. But I think politics are going to come in to make him go back to Hogwarts, much to his displeasure. Which doesn't mean that Harry won't be tutored anymore by Moody. What's more to say? Ah yes, Hogwarts is also an excellent environment to see how people would react to such a high level of aristocracy. Heh, spoilers... (grin)

_Grookill_: Dumbledore, in this story, is not someone inherently evil, just an old wizard who feels that the world is getting out of hands and that control must be preserved at all costs. Yes, he does want to keep everybody safe, but he doesn't make the good decisions. They hurt people like they did with Sirius and Harry for book five. Desperation, then? Maybe, I don't know, there are a lot of ideas spinning in my head, I cannot put them right here...but Dumbledore's not evil. He just made the wrong decisions. As for Harry being the weapon? Well, even though he still cares for his student and unofficial pupil, he knows that Harry is the only one who can kill Voldemort. And he'll not allow the only chance to bring the Dark Lord down slip away or be hurt. The other outcome would be hopeless. Now, for your comparing HP to NGE, well, I mean no offence, but it's a bit far-fetched. Harry's definitely not acting like Shinji. He's got more backbone than that. Misato maybe looks a lot like Tonks but she'd be less cheerful...and clumsy (grin). And a Gendo-like Dumbledore? No. Dumbledore means NO HARM. Gendo does. Harry OOC? Well, with your godfather dying, learning that you have a new power to master and that the final confrontation would be between you and your nemesis...well, who wouldn't change after that and work to change things? For the OWL point, don't worry. Harry did score well, but I won't give him too high marks. He still failed, without doubt, two courses, History and Astronomy. Divination...maybe. By the way, do you know how this OWL thing works? How many OWLs per class and the like? I need pointers! Hermione falling straight for Harry? Nuh-huh, won't happen. Harry's still inside his shell and Hermione...well, I'll see. Let's not forget that there will be other girls in that fic (hint, hint). Minee and Kath? I wouldn't know, I don't have siblings, but thanks for the compliment! (laughs merrily)

_Tillantria_: erm, yeah, you're right, but I can't exactly say it was a cliffhanger since those things are intended to let you hanging on the fic asking yourself 'what's going to happen'. It's not the case here and well, since I'm not as fluent as that in English, I didn't have the perfect word for it. I just wanted to conclude the chapter on that announcement, because I was starting to feel the fic getting heavier and heavier. I didn't want to bore you to the bones. As for the sarcastic comment, well, I don't know if the Elder Goblins would have appreciated such a transgression of the rules of decorum and well-conduct. But thanks for the suggestion, though. I'll see what I can do about it. Maybe later. I tried in this chapter, though. I'll try to do better than that.

_Shadow101_: har, har, har. Assumptions, assumptions (insert evil laugh) - the word 'soul' _does_ have something to do with it, but you'll see it a bit later. However, I did mention something about the soul a while ago. Just look back at my answer to Loopy dane's review, and well, put two and two together, will you? (wink) Strange thing about your review problem, though. I had one of my own: my email review alert, which provides me with an update of my fics' reviews, had a queer bug a few days ago. Kept on arriving at my mailbox at a snail's pace, whilst on FFN the review count literally exploded. I don't know why, but as long as you got what you wanted...who's going to complain? Thanks for the trouble, though. Oh, last thing: the title was taken (and I hold it as a homage to that incredible fic, which is extremely well written - nothing like me, period) from the last words of a very famous Evangelion fanfic series named 'Eva-R', but in here, well, the soul in question is indeed Harry's. The tension, though, mean a lot of things, like the war brewing and the trouble he has to cope with, not only magically but personally. As for the title not being that 'seducing', well I can't exactly rename it 'Harry Potter: Sex, Guns, Voldemort In A Bikini And A Prissy Bitch Called Umbridge' with all the serious events, can I? (sweatdrop)

_Me'shell_: err...were you high on crack when you wrote that? I don't really get what you intended to tell me (sweatdrop). Humor here is not the main theme - so sorry.

_Quizer:_ sent you the mail, you got the spoilers. Sorry about my not forwarding you the files, but when I upload them through QuickEdit I usually do last-minute changes and some of them are quite drastic, when it comes to spelling and grammar...so you might want to wait for a while till I finish rechecking them before mailing them. The changes can be quite extensive, I tell you. Not to mention restoring the formatting. And with 2000NT waiting for its uninstall and reinstall...

_Maddie:_ well, sorry if it doesn't look like HP, but do you expect Harry _not_ to change especially after what happened in the DoM? I don't see him practicing dancing the salsa after that as a way to vanquish Lord Voldemort. The Power He Knows Not. Figures. Heh. No, that'd be ridiculous. My guess for the HBP book's prologue is that it shows Harry bordering on depression, but that'd counterproductive for the upcoming battle. As for his lifting weights...well, _mens sana in corpore sano_, as the saying goes. The Auror training must imperatively include P.E. for aspects of the job like dodging spells and reflexes as well as endurance. And if a wizard loses his wand in a duel, then it all comes down to fists and blows. So... As for Harry being OOC, I guess it couldn't be helped. This series is about examining him taking his life in his own hands. Sorry if it looked OOC to you. Magic will come in chap five and beyond - the Elderblood thing was the introduction to new fields, universes and features.

* * *

Ooops, by the way, not-so-innocent-me, there was a little homage to Evangelion here. Could someone tell me where and what? (**I'm joking - don't put it in the reviews or FFN will ban me**) If you've seen EoE, you'll know immediately. The song picking up in the Chamber was Carl Orff's _O Fortuna, Imperatix Mundi_, taken from his _Carmina Burana_ opera. _O Fortuna _also happens to be the original soundtrack of the _Excalibur _movie. I also put a little wink here to Hoobastank's _Crawling in the dark._ Guess where. **Don't answer either in the reviews.**

**KEEP REVIEWING** - it keeps me going on, but keep it civil. Not like that brat called _nomoreseverusharryslash_. I can understand if someone gives me a flame because I said something outrageous but this is downright ridiculous. He insults me because he doesn't like my writing. That's really worthy of an intolerant idiot.

Kill him for all I care.

And please cheer me up. :-)

_**Until next time,**_

**abi2301**


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